Me Without You
by kkolmakov
Summary: Two years after the Battle of the Five Armies, Wren of Enedwaith, a young healer of Men comes to the City of Dale. Dale and Esgaroth have been restored, Dain Ironfoot rules Erebor, and life is abundant and peaceful. The King Thorin II rests in a tomb of white stone under his Mountain. Who is the Dwarf with piercing blue eyes Wren sees in her dreams? COMPLETE/EPILOGUES/ONESHOTS
1. Chapter 1

On an early Spring morning, two years after the Battle of Five Armies, Wren of Enedwaith, a young healer of Men entered the quickly restoring city of Dale, carrying her heavy sack behind her back. The air was crisp and fresh, streets already full of busy crowds, carts and travellers rushing by.

It was not hard to find the city infirmary, a tall building of yellow stone, and by the end of the first day, Wren had her position as a healer's apprentice, helping the Chief Healer. She hardly needed any additional education in her craft, but surely the old healer could not accept a fresh girl, who looked as if she were twelve, as his new surgeon. Her knowledge and skills, though, were unprecedented, and in the month that came she was given more and more responsibilities. She was also quiet, modest, her character even and morals untarnished. She wore the healer's robe, her odd hair of the brightest orange were braided in a stern do around her head, she wore no jewellery and was not known to associate with any men in town. The latter was one of her main merits in the eyes of the Chief Healer. Young girls from all Arda flocked to Dale to find themselves a husband, the city was flourishing, trade blooming between it and the City of Erebor, ruled by the renown war hero Dain Ironfoot, while many barrels and crates were shipped down the lake and the river to the Greenwood the Great, to the halls of the Elvenking Thranduil. It was the time of restoration and joy, and youth was as though inebriated by the hunger for life and love. There were weddings each week, and sometimes the Chief Healer felt he did nothing else but delivered babies in the city.

Wren of Enedwaith showed astonishing proficiency in midwifery as well as excellent skills in surgery. She was also endlessly industrious, she would work three shifts, and was still ready to join him at night to assist him in a complicated delivery. And for the first time in his service the Chief Healer lamented that one of his healers was never to leave his infirmary for the sake of starting a family. Wren, he thought, deserved such happiness, but he had very little hope for it. She was so obviously unattractive and odd that even drunk bargemen delivered to the infirmary to sober up and patch up their broken noses would show little interest in her. She was slender, almost sickly looking, had a body of a child, as well as strange copper hair, in an unruly curly mop around her head. Her face was angular, and her red mouth was excessively wide. Unlike other female healers in his infirmary she never decorated herself, the rest tried to enliven the dull, fern green attire with jewellery or at least expensive shoes, while she wore practical boots and possessed no necklaces, and no rings were ever seen on her tiny hands that matched her height just like her minuscule feet. She was as tall as most Dwarves visiting the city, although thrice as narrow.

* * *

Two months after her arrival Wren was in the inn she was renting a room at, and a drunk merchant grabbed her upper arm.

"Common, little fish, give us a kiss!" She jerked her arm out of his grasp, she was surprisingly strong for her size, but the man's mate was behind her, and she bumped into him.

"Why do you bother with this one?" The second one spat out, giving her a derisive look. "What a minger!"

"The more grateful she'll be for a bit warmth," the first one disgustingly licked his lips, and that was when Wren kneed him in the most sensitive areas. Years of medical practice helped her to determine the weakest spot and to ensure the most prominent success. The drunkard hollered and fell on the ground. The second one raised his fist to punch her, when a bottle landed on his head with a loud shattering noise, and he joined his companion.

"Pigs," the voice of the woman still holding the neck of the bottle was disdainful, and Wren stared at her in admiration. She was tall and the most exquisite beauty Wren had ever seen. Chestnut waves were scattered on her shoulders, her bosom opulent, curves enticing, she had magnificent brown eyes framed with thick black lashes, her lips full and bright pink.

"I'm Thea," the young woman introduced herself to Wren, who hurriedly returned the favour. The women smiled to each other, Wren stepped over the unconscious bodies, and joined Thea and her twenty three friends in the common room. Thea was a wine girl, which meant she travelled with merchants, looking after their supplies and tending to their needs, cooking and mending their clothes and taking care of their laundry. That was the day when Wren found herself the best friend she could have ever dreamt of, and the jolly crowd of winegirls had taken her under their wing.

* * *

Wren loved her new life in the city of Dale. She loved the small room in the inn, the large oaktree growing under her window, her busy days in the infirmary. She had come to Dale looking for peace and purpose, and although mawkishness was not in her character she felt as if something had called for her, had driven her to leave her service in Ithilien and travel here. She fell into habit of wandering the streets on the days she was free, chatting with vendors, playing with children, but with each passing day it was becoming more and more evident to her that the city was not satisfying her strange longing, and some unfamiliar thirst was growing in her heart. Her eyes would fall on the horizon more and more often, and sometimes, on very early mornings, she would sit on the sill of her window, her eyes on the dark and intimidating lines of the Lonely Mountain.

City of Erebor had been restored just like Dale and Esgaroth, and the most inconceivable rumours were surrounding the life of the Dwarven Kingdom. The Khazad, as they were called in their mysterious throaty language, kept to themselves, although their relationships with Men and Elves were amicable, though rather detached. They were often seen in the streets on both cities of Men, and merchants from all Middle Earth would travel to the Dwarven city. They were accepted in the visitors' parlours but never allowed deeper into the Mountain. And there was one thought that would not leave Wren's mind. The Erebor Library, which was said to survive the sixty years of the Dragon Smaug's tyranny and the war, was to be the most extensive and well-guarded source of knowledge in the Middle Earth, only to be compared to the library halls of the Elvenking. And the more Wren thought of it, the more she craved to have at least one peek.

* * *

"My darling," Thea sauntered into Wren's room and regally sat on the bed near her friend. Wren lifted her eyes from the book she was absorbed into. Thea's eyes were shining, and she smiled to Wren impishly, "Tell me I am the best friend a bookworm such as yourself can dream of!"

"You are the best friend anyone can dream of," Wren laughed and looked at her friend warmly, "But what is it all about?"

"A wonderful person as I am, I have acquired the passage to the Dwarven city for you, my love," Thea's voice was triumphant, and Wren pressed her hands to her mouth, "One of the merchants that had arrived from Bree last week, bringing wine to Erebor, is ill, or will have fallen ill, once I am done with him, and they require a healer to accompany them to Erebor."

It could seem almost impossible for two women with such different conducts to be friends, but Wren always appreciated Thea and never judged her, though she could hardly share Thea's sentiments towards promiscuity. Thea changed lovers every night, Wren had only had one. And yet, Wren could not wish for a better friend. She squealed in elation and threw her arms around Thea's neck. She would see Erebor! Her heart fluttered and some unfamiliar anticipative agitation clasped at her heart!

* * *

The night before the visit Wren could not fall asleep, she tossed and turned, and when she finally fell into some strange heavy slumber, odd disturbing dreams were wandering her mind. She saw dark menacing halls, tall stone walls, dim lights throwing shadows on the floor and giant statues in rows. She could not quite see the lines and shapes, everything seemed hazed and subdued, and then a large shape stepped out of the darkness, and Wren understood she was in catacombs.

A colossal tomb lay in front of her eyes, white stone and a statue on its lid, a figure of a Dwarf, carved with astonishing precision, a sword and a strange shield placed on his unmoving chest. She stepped closer, her eyes greedily drinking in the noble severe feature of his face, and then she looked at the sword, a surprisingly elegant and fine blade for a Khazad warrior and an even more astonishing shield that looked like nothing else but a thick branch of a tree.

Wren woke up with a gasp, her heart painfully beating in her throat, she was pressing her hands to her mouth, silencing a scream that was to erupt out of her. It was time to go down and join the merchants, and she quickly dressed as if still in her dream, her hands shaking, and breathing frantic.

It was the day when Wren of Enedwaith entered Erebor for the first time.

* * *

**A/N: My darling readers, BoFA is coming!**

**For those of you who haven't read my stories: Wren is my usual OC, there are several timelines, there are several Wrens and several Thorins. This is Wren from Timeline #1, the very first original Wren. You can consult "Thorin's Timeline" if you feel like reading the original stories in their chronological order or you can just follow the description of the stories.**

**For those of you who read my stories: Do you trust me?**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: My lovelies, if you are interested, in the original Timeline #1 this corresponds to Chapter 8 in "Thorin's Return to Shire" *sob***

* * *

Wren was lost. She could not believe it, but the very first forbidden and reckless act she had ever dared in her life led her into so much trouble that she was shaking from fear and embarrassment. She was scolding herself, for leaving the merchants behind, for quietly escaping the watchful eyes of the guard, for sneaking through some door, and venturing into exploring the adjoint halls. Now she was lost, and quite obviously the hall around her was not destined to be seen by any Men.

There were weapons and armour decorating walls, it seemed to be some sort of a memorial, the items on the walls were damaged, though cleaned and polished, some were broken and pieces placed together on shelves, on velvet and silk. The rows of stone tables and shelves led to the large statue at the back of the hall, and items closer to it were more opulent and cherishable looking than the ones by the entrance. Wren momentarily thought that she were to leave, she was quite obviously intruding, and judging by the reverence the placement of objects was breathing with, she was perhaps committing a sacrilege. And yet her body as if against her will carried her ahead, she was slowly approaching the large stone table at the furthest wall, at the feet of the colossal statue.

When she stopped in front of the stone giant, she could not lift her eyes, her heart was beating painfully, and she glanced at the armour in front of her. It was opulent, heavy, worthy of a King. There was a cracked breastplate, of golden and silver, sharp angular ridges on it, large pauldrons and gauntlets, and she shortly wondered just how much strength resided in the body such armour had been protecting. She then saw an octagon shield, broken in two, both halves placed on the dark blue velvet, and finally a wide Dwarven sword.

And that was when she lifted her face and looked at the statue above her. A Dwarven warrior, clad in the replica of the armour she could see in front of her, a heavy crown on his long wavy locks, a stern proud expression on his noble face, stood in a powerful menacing pose, his hands locked on the plummet of the very same wide Dwarven sword. He was portrayed as looking ahead, his lips set in a cantankerous line, brows frowned, and Wren could not tear her eyes off his profile. She realised there were tears running down her face only when a few salty drops brushed at her trembling lips.

"What are you doing here?" A firm low voice behind her made her whirl on her heels, and she squeaked terrified. An old Dwarf was standing behind her, his forked beard was white, and his round sturdy body was clad in a lavish dark velvet attire.

"Pardon me, my lord, I was lost… I came with merchants, and then I got… lost..." She was shaking and hurriedly wiped the tears off her face. "I meant no disrespect..." Her voice broke, and to her ultimate mortification she sniffed. The Dwarf studied her face, she knew her eyes were red and already puffy, and she bit into her bottom lip from abashment.

"This is King Thorin II, that is his armour, the one he wore into his last battle," the Dwarf approached her, and she realised he was not looking at her. His eyes were on the face of the statue, and she saw genuine warmth and melancholy in his features.

"Thorin Oakenshield," she breathed out, recalling the war stories she had been hearing in the four months of her residing in Dale.

"Yes, Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain," the Dwarf dropped his eyes on the armour, and she saw his eyebrows twitch in distress. "He would need a different blade though..."

Something stirred in Wren's memory, something from a dream, and then suddenly she could clearly see the white tombstone from last night, and the svelte curved blade she saw. And then she recalled the tales from the war.

"Orcrist, the Goblin Cleaver..." She could not believe her own impudence, but the Dwarf had warm kind eyes, and somehow she felt she was allowed to talk freely in his presence. He nodded, sadness colouring his features, and Wren did not know herself where the sobs came from. She felt her body quake, as if sharp pain piercing through her chest, and she took a few spasmodic breaths in. The room swam in front of her eyes, the world keeled, and through the veil of her tears she looked at the stone face of the King. She swayed and grabbed the edge of a table to her right. It had some maps and parchments displayed on it, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

"Are you unwell, lass?" The Dwarf stepped closer and supported her.

"I apologise, I do not know… What came over me… Forgive me..."

"Quite alright, it is quite alright, I hate this room myself..." He grasped her under her elbow and softly led her out of the hall. She heavily leaned onto him, she would agonise over her undecorous behaviour later, her knees were shaking, and soon enough they were standing in front of the door she initially had slipped out of.

She was feeling much better, clarity of mind returning to her, and she felt endlessly ashamed of her faint and her bathos. She started apologising again, but he patted her hand and gave her a slightly mischievous, warm look.

"Thorin had such effect on impressionable maidens," he chuckled, and Wren blushed furiously. She never considered herself such, she deemed herself sober and practical and lacking any sentimentality, but she reckoned it was perhaps time to reconsider. "Quite a dashing lad he was. And tall, and those eyes!" The Dwarf gave her a wink, and she giggled. That was astonishing as well, she never thought such a girlish act to be in her nature.

She gave him a low bow, thanked him again for his kindness and lenience, and placed her hand on the door. He turned around to leave, and then she heard her own voice, "What colour were they?" The Dwarf looked at her in surprise and a certain amount of amusement, and she felt her cheekbones burn almost painfully, "His eyes, what colour were they?" He remained silent for a few instances, and then she saw his face waver.

"Blue, they were blue. Like Ered Luin sapphires." She thought she saw tears in the eyes of the old Dwarf, and then he was gone. She pushed the door and joined her companions. It was time to return to Dale.

* * *

Wren rushed into her room in the inn and fell on the bed. She curled in a small ball, pulling her knees to her nose and covering with her head by the blanket. She wanted to ponder what had transpired in the Erebor halls, her mind frantically grasping to find the meaning of it, and of the dream she had had. As sentimental and mauldin as she had shown herself earlier, Wren praised herself on having discipled mind. Surely, there had been a reasonable explanation to that. Perhaps, she had been overworking, and her mind exhausted and sleep deprived had cooked up such concoction of images and sensations, and after becoming overly emotional in the mountain halls she was now twisting the memories of her dream, appropriating the images to fit what she had seen in Erebor.

She rolled on her back, linked her fingers on her stomach and took a deep breath. And as she was seemingly calming down, a loud knock to her door announced the arrival of her friend.

"Tell me everything! You do know how interested I am in mountain dwellers!" Thea jumped on Wren's bed and shook her friend's shoulders. By then Wren was aware of Thea's pursuit for carnal diversity, which also included unsuccessful attempts to charm every passing by Dwarf, and quite often she had to shush Thea's racy fantasies, which the chestnut haired beauty felt like loudly sharing in the common room. "I once spent two hours watching a Dwarf hammering in a forge," Thea was gesturing animatedly, and Wren squealed and hid her face in a pillow, "Maiar help me, the arms, and the shoulders, and the chest!" Thea outlined the muscular shapes in the air, and Wren felt heady blush spill on her cheeks. By then she also knew that it was easier to go with the conversation Thea led as opposed to trying to stop her.

"What was he forging?"

"What does it matter?! He went on for two hours! Can you imagine the stamina?! And the size of the hammer!" Wren snorted. "Speaking about being on the anvil!"

"You are hopeless!"

"Tell me you are not curious!" As little as such conversation matched Wren's inclinations, it was a perfect distraction from the turmoil of the past night and day.

"Honestly, Thea, my mind does not reside below my waist. It is a proud ancient race, can you imagine the richness of their knowledge? Their magic?" Thea quieted down, but Wren doubted she was thinking about the famous Erebor Library. "And no, I'm not curious, Thea. Men are the last thing on my mind." Both girls laughed, and Wren ventured into the account of her, given, embarrassing adventures, obviously omitting certain details.

When Thea finally left after their shared dinner, Wren felt so exhausted that she did not remember lying down. That was the first night when the Dwarf visited her dreams.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: The quotes from Khuzdul translation of "I See Fire" (executed by the Dwarrow Schollar, find him online, the bloke is brill!) given in Italics will signify the beginning and the end of dream sequences.**

* * *

_Ra nî lomil tamhari, akhsigabi azâgê... / And if the night is burning, I will cover my eyes..._

* * *

Wren found herself standing in the same hall where she saw the colossal statue of the dead King, but this time a long table was in its center, surrounded by tall chairs, quite obviously intended for a council, and instead of the statue she saw a throne and behind it a large tapestry on the wall, dark blue, with an immense family tree embroidered on it. She froze in the doors, once again feeling she was intruding. The room was lit by flickering light of torches on the walls, but this time it was not cold and its air was not stale as during her actual visit. Wren felt warm, and strangely enough she caught the smell of her favourite lilacs in the air, as if summer breeze had brought their fragrance in a light rush from bushes by the road.

By the wall in the shadows there stood a Dwarf, she could hardly see him, just his wide powerful silhouette, and then she stepped inside. She felt strangely calm and joyous, as if meeting an old friend, perhaps because she quite clearly saw it was nothing but a dream.

He turned to her and stepped into the light. He was clad in a thin, dark blue tunic and linen trousers, barefoot, his hair scattered on his shoulders, and he gave her an irritated yet uncertain look.

"What are you doing in my halls, naith?" The word was unfamiliar, and Wren shortly wondered if it were even possible to speak an unknown language in one's own dream.

She felt like quipping back and asking him what he was doing in her dream, but then she bowed to him and answered politely, "Forgive me, my lord, I did not want to intrude..."

"I do not remember this room..." He interrupted her, though probably not speaking to her, and slowly turned around, his bright blue eyes roaming the hall, and that was when she recognised him. Her breathing hitched, and she made a small step back.

The profile was noble, the nose long and prominent, he was frowning, and a wrinkle lay between his thick black brows. He had a surprisingly soft line of lips, and she could not remember it being portrayed such in stone. She felt it was almost amusing that her mind created such fantasy, giving him certain softness of features. The beard was thick and black, but there was plenty of silver in his hair, especially in the soft waves above his forehead, and she tried to remember how old he was when he fell. According to the war stories, around two hundred, she thought. Mature age, but not yet old for a Khazad.

Right now, in her dream, he seemed tall for a Dwarf, perhaps an inch taller than her, she remembered the words of the old Dwarf in Erebor. She suppressed a smile. She indeed always found men with larger, more imposing build more attractive, but most Men were compared to her, she was very small. She wondered what sort of vanity resided in her to make a Dwarf in her dream still taller than her.

And suddenly, and as it always were to be in a dream, without much continuity, he was standing in front of her, his glare burning and apprehensive, "Where am I, girl?"

"Erebor, my King," she did not know where the moniker came from, but he froze, searching her face for some answers, and then he swayed back from her.

"But I am not… Why am I in Erebor? Am I not to enter Itdendum?" Torturous pain splashed into the lines of his face, bewilderment and terror, so unbecoming his noble features, made Wren stretch her hand to him, in an impulsive desire to console, "Have I not fought with honour?.." He was looking into her face, but she had no answers for him. And again, it was just a dream.

She was going to tell him so, when he shifted his eyes on the tapestry behind them, and murmured, "Radm khama amnas yud ni Itdendum..."

* * *

_Ra adjini tada zasaziliki e... / I'll hope you'll remember me…_

* * *

Wren sat up on her bed sharply, hot tears running down her face, her body quaking, breathing laboured. She pulled her blanket to her chin and let herself cry. It was just a dream, she repeated to herself, but the piercing pity she felt for him, so lost and so confused, as if almost abased, made her rock on her bed, her arms wrapped around her knees. Once her sobs subsided, she had her decision.

The next three days she worked in the infirmary, but her mind had been set, and once she was even asked by the Chief Healer whether something was ailing her. She apologised for being distracted and brought her mind back onto her everyday responsibilities.

The morning of the fourth day came, she put on her healer's robe, and walked to the inn known to accommodate the richest merchants coming to the city. The Khazad from Erebor would often have ale with their relatives coming from the Iron Hills in its common room, and she entered the big hall, clenching her fists, but her head set proudly.

The room was full of people of all races, loudly talking, loud coarse laughter was heard from the corner occupied by Northmen. Wren came up to the innkeeper, a red cheeked jolly man, who immediately bowed to her. Healers were a respectable profession, and she once again praised herself for the good sense of wearing her robe.

"What can I do you for, honourable healer?" Wren took a deep breath in and decided to trust the innkeeper's discretion.

"I am looking for a trustworthy Khazad to discuss a sensitive matter," her voice wavered, but she quickly gathered her courage, "Could I rely on your judgement, kind sir?" The innkeeper gave her a long attentive look, but she knew one could hardly suspect her in lewdness or trickery when judging by her looks.

"There, in the corner," the innkeeper discreetly pointed at two Dwarves sitting at a table and loudly guffawing at some joke, "Most would not talk to you, but those are jolly fellows. Try talking to them." She thanked him wholeheartedly and turned around. "And, fair maiden?" She gave him a look over her shoulder. "Worry not, I will keep an eye on you." She smiled to him and gratefully nodded. It was a nice sentiment, but unlike the man she did not share the prejudice against the Khazad most Men still carried in their hearts. Besides, she knew one could hardly summon it from her small frame and modest healer's robe, but she could take care of herself. She had been living on the road for many years.

She approached the table in the corner and timidly smiled to the two Dwarves that stopped talking and looked at her. She had always admired the complicated dos and the beard and moustache braids of the Khazad, but the hair of the first one was bordering to almost ridiculous. More than anything he reminded her of a sea star, three tall ridges of his hair standing upright on his head. He was also a ginger like her, his beard was braided into three plaits, with long beads on their ends. He had lively sparkling eyes and gave her a slightly mischievous, benevolent look. The second one looked even friendlier, he was wearing a strange two eared hat that was sitting askew on his head, his moustache was long and dark, and while she was gathering her will to speak, he gave her a wink with his laughing hazel eye.

"Good day, honourable Dwarves, I apologise for disturbing you..." She had to clear her throat from acute abashment, but they gave her encouraging smiles, and then the one in the hat pushed a stool towards her.

"No disturbance, lass, do sit down. What can we help you with?" She smiled to him gratefully and sat down.

"My name is Wren of Enedwaith, kind sirs, and I have a question to ask."


	4. Chapter 4

"Honourable Dwarves, I would like to start with telling you that in no way I intend to offend or intrude on the secrecy of your people and the ancient culture of the Khazad," she stared at her hands locked on the table in front of her, "And I understand that the matter I came to you with is of sensitive manner, and could almost be conceived as thoughtless meddling..." She stuttered over her prepared speech, and suddenly the dark haired Dwarf laughed joyously.

"You are quite a wordy lass, aren't you, honourable healer? Why don't you just tell us what you need? We are not the ones to judge," he winked to his companion. "My friend here, Nori, is very fond of sensitive, intrusive matters, as you said," both Dwarves chuckled, "And my name is Bofur. So what worries you, honourable healer?" Wren took a deep breath in and ventured into her inquiry.

"I have heard a phrase in the Dwarven language, Khuzhdul…" She was hoping she was pronouncing it right. "But I cannot tell you where and in what circumstances. And I need to know the meaning of it, if it has any." She looked between two Dwarves, who quickly exchanged surprised glances. She decided she had little to lose, she inhaled and spoke, "Radm khama amnas yud ni Itdendum." The throaty words fell from her lips with ease, she could not believe herself how clearly she remembered them, and judging by the astonished faces of the men at the table it was not gibberish, as she perhaps secretly hoped.

"And do we gather it right, you will not tell us where you heard it?" The red haired Dwarf spoke for the first time, his face serious, and she firmly met his eyes and shook her head.

"It means 'The reward for loyalty is a place in the Hall of Awaiting', it is an old saying." The one called Bofur answered slowly, studying her face, "It is also said at the funeral ceremonies of the Dwarven warriors who fell in battle." Wren felt her heart clench. It was not meaningless. She pressed a hand to her lips and took a few slow breaths in.

"Was this phrase said at the funeral ceremony of King Thorin II?" She asked next, having governed her emotions. She saw the faces of the Dwarves grow even more solemn, and then the one called Nori nodded.

"Mahal, it has been two years already," the other Dwarf suddenly mumbled, "More perhaps. I can still remember it so clearly..."

"You were there?" Wren asked greedily, and because she needed to know and was worried she was losing her sanity, she whispered, "Is he buried in a white tomb, his Elven blade placed on it, and his oaken branch shield carved on its lid?"

"How do you know of that?" The red-haired Dwarf's voice was suddenly sharp, "No one but Khazad were to see it, and none of us would speak."

"Bard was there," the one called Bofur spoke darkly, "And the halfling, rumours were to spread, Nori. To say nothing of the Elves." The Dwarves picked up their mugs and took large gulps of their ale.

"Did you know him? King Thorin? When he lived?" A heavy pause hung above their table, and then Nori suddenly smiled widely.

"Sometimes more than we wished." Wren and Bofur looked at him in astonishment. "Like those nights when he would make us sleep on the cold ground when we would camp on the road. Or when he would not let us start fire and our teeth would chatter at night until we felt we would lose all of them." He chuckled, and the other Dwarf joined him. Wren stared at them in astonishment. They apparently were very much familiar with the King, and what a picture they drew!

"Or when he would always put me on the first look out, and I would miss dinner, and had to eat it cold afterwards," Bofur joined his friend's frolics, his hazel eyes sparkling, and Wren could not understand whether it was laughter or tears twinkling in them, "You see, lass, he had not always been the King Under the Mountain. There was time when he was just… Thorin." And Wren understood that those were indeed tears, as suddenly one shining drop rolled down Bofur's cheek.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, the Dwarves drinking, Wren recalling her dreams, and then the one called Nori shook his head and cleared his throat.

"You are quite an oddity, Wren of Enedwaith." She looked at him in surprise. "Making us speak so openly. Pray to Mahal you are not asking it out of trite curiosity." She shook her head and gave him a serious look.

"I am not, honourable Dwarf," she got up and gave them a low bow. "I thank you for your kindness and your openness, kind sirs. And may Maiar shine on your path!" She gave them the formal goodbye of Men, not knowing the appropriate words of the Khazad for such occasion.

"May we meet again with the grace of Mahal," answered the one called Nori, and Bofur gave her a kind smile. She bowed again and left the inn. She had her answer.

* * *

The City of Dale had only one library, the collection of books previously having belonged to the former Master of Laketown, and currently the volumes were moved in a small hall adjoined to the house of the King of Dale, Bard the Bowman. Anybody was allowed to use the books, though Wren doubted many did. She found the building empty, with the exception of an old librarian, frail and slightly senile.

Many books were written on the culture and the religion of the Khazad, as the history of the three towns had been so tightly intertwined for many centuries, and Wren spent every free minute she had in the next two weeks flipping through the pages of the dusty volumes.

According to the Khazad, those who had fallen in a battle were to be buried, but not burnt, and their spirits were believed to pass into the Halls of Awaiting, called Itdendum in Khuzdul, just like Men, but in the halls set apart for them by Mahal, the Maker, the Father of Dwarves.

Among other books Wren found several new volumes, describing the events of the Quest of Erebor and the Battle of the Five Armies. In astonishment she realised that she had the honour of speaking with two member of the original company of Thorin Oakenshield that day in the inn. She also found a parchment that described the history of the legendary sword of the Dwarven King, and a large volume describing the War for Moria and the Battle of Azanulbizar, in which King Thorin had lost his grandfather and his brother, and acquired his moniker Oakenshield. Wren found a drawing of the shield, made of a single oaken branch, and recognised it from her very first dream.

She seemingly started understanding more about these dreams, but their meaning was alluding her. She wondered what she was to do with her new knowledge and what was the purpose of what had transpired.

Wren found portraits, he was indeed a handsome man. Wren hardly placed any judgement on the differences between the races, she did not find Dwarven opulent hair and sturdy, wide frame unattractive like most of the women she served with, but she thought that even those denying the allure of the Khazad would agree King Thorin was an enticing man. In one of the volumes she found a sketch made by one of the company members, a young Dwarf named Ori. The King was portrayed sitting on a large boulder, his eyes on the horizon, and Wren spent a long time studying the lines of his profile and that very soft line of lips she had previously thought her imagination had conjured.

And then days flew by, seemingly the same but full of service and hundreds of small matters to attend, and she was starting to doubt whether the dreams had even been real, when one night she found herself in the same halls.

* * *

_Ra nî lomil tamhari, akhsigabi azâgê... / And if the night is burning, I will cover my eyes..._

* * *

This time Wren found herself outside the large wooden doors leading into the hall. She felt as if she was being given a choice, whether to come in, and she was certain of whom she would find inside, or walk away. She stood, her small hand on a thick brass ring of the door handle, and she saw her fingers tremble.

And then she remember the lost and terrified expression, betrayal and humiliation splashing in his piercing blue eyes, and she pulled the heavy leaf of the door, and entered.

He stood his back to her, in the same attire, his head dropped back as he was studying the tapestry on the wall, and she looked as well. Dain I was the name embroidered above the simplified depiction of a stern bearded face, the lines went down, to his three sons, and then forked, with Thorin III, son of Dain Ironfoot, being on the lowest of the branches.

"Fili and Kili..." His voice was low and raspy, and she clenched her fists. He stepped to the tapestry and brushed his fingers to the names of his nephews, "There are no names after them..." He was still facing away from her, and she lowered her eyes.

"They fell. In the battle with you."

"I do not remember..." His voice broke, and she assumed by a soft rustle that he turned to her, "I do not remember the battle, just how we charged from the mountain..."

Her throat was clenched, and suddenly she felt his presence near her. She inhaled gathering her courage and lifted her eyes. His jaw was set, and she was shocked to see rage splashing in his eyes.

"Who are you?" His tone was menacing and commanding, and even though overwhelmed she jerked her chin up in defiance.

"Wren of Enedwaith, a healer from the city of Dale."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: This chapter is still a dream sequence, and still has references to "Thorin's Return to Shire" Chapter 8, but once again, that is quite a different story, isn't it?**

* * *

"Healer from Dale?.." Disbelief laced his voice, "Is the city restored? How long...?"

"It has been two years since the Battle of the Five Armies, my lord," Wren saw his face waver, and the knots of muscles played on his jaw.

"Five armies..." He turned away from her and placed one hand on the back of the nearest chair. He was clearly supporting himself, and she stepped closer. "Dain, Thranduil, Bard, Orcs, and Wargs..." She nodded, but was certain he did not see. His eyes were on the surface of the table, his knuckles white on the wood of the chair. She gave him time but she needed to know.

"Why are you coming, honourable King? Into my dreams. Do you need anything from me? Do I need to do something?"

"Are we in your dream?" He looked at her over his shoulder, in confusion.

"And where do you think we are?" He turned around, and she saw his lips set in a stubborn derisive line.

"As you claimed before, honourable healer, we are in Erebor, though I do not recall this hall..."

"What happens when I leave?" She interrupted him and immediately shied away from her own insolence. He gave her an almost amused look, one of his eyebrows twitched, and suddenly she noticed how attractive he was. Once his face lost the angry expression, she could not help but admire the prominent profile and the luscious black beard. He gave her an attentive look over.

"You are a healer from Dale, and we are in your dream, and apparently... I am dead," his tone was astonishingly even, and she shifted between her feet. "Am I not, fair maiden?" Her discomfort seemed to entertain him. He pointed at the tapestry, there were dates of birth and death embroidered under the simplistic portraits of the Heirs of Durin. "So, honourable healer, have I fallen in the battle?"

"Yes," her answer was hardly audible. He was purposefully perturbing her, and she felt her temper rising though she was trying to collect herself.

"Yes, and now you are claiming we are in your dream…" He gave her another, slightly disdainful look, "Answering your previous question, I do not know… I do not remember the minutes when you are not here… I remember your previous visit, it was like a flash… Then darkness, and then you opened the door again..." He was speaking more and more quietly, and then he heavily sat on the nearest chair. Frustrated frown froze on his face.

"My lord," she cleared her throat and stopped much closer. She craved to touch his shoulder, to show him her compassion, but she felt it would be impudent. And she did not know if she would be able to touch him at all. "Last time you pronounced a phrase in Khuzdul, I had not been familiar with it, and I spoke to Khazad," she decided to emit the names of the Dwarves, not to distress him further, "And they explained the meaning to me."

"Radm khama amnas yud ni Itdendum," his voice was hollow, he folded his arms on his chest, and looked at her apprehensively.

"The reward for loyalty is a place in the Hall of Awaiting," Wren spoke softly.

"And apparently I do not deserve any," his tone was suddenly harsh, and she looked at him in confusion. "Otherwise, how can this be explained?" He gestured around himself. "I am stuck in a hall in Erebor, which I am never to rule, and my only companion is a scrap of a girl of Men." His tone was venomous, and enraged blush spilled on her cheeks.

"Pardon?" She could not believe her ears. King or not, she would not allow anyone to treat her this way!

"Are you to argue with me on any of these points, my lady?" His tone was venomous, the look of her gracial eyes contemptuous, and she was quickly losing her composure. He insulted her! And to think of it, she had felt so sympathetic towards him!

"Well, since you seem to be so displeased with this arrangement," her voice was trembling from indignation, "Maybe staying here alone would serve you well, my lord," She hissed his moniker through gritted teeth and started marching to the door. "Perhaps they will send you a more worthy companion than a scrap of a girl..."

She was walking quickly, continuing to talk, her hand lay on the door, and an instant after she heard the chair creak and hasty steps behind her, he obviously had rushed after her, his large hand clasped around her upper arm.

They both froze and stared at the spot where their bodies had joined. His palm was sturdy, calloused, and very, very hot. And she could feel it. His eyes widened, and he shied away from her, letting go of her arm. She looked at the skin he touched, he was studying his palm.

"It does not feel like a dream," Wren's voice was small, and she looked at him in agitation, "In dreams everything is mellowed, softer… This felt..." His pupils were dilated, and he was still looking at his hand, when she stretched hers and placed it on his open palm tentatively. Her digits twitched when the pulps of her fingers brushed the harsh, scorching palm, and he suddenly closed his hand and squeezed hers.

"Honourable healer..." She lifted her eyes from their clasped hands and met his, remorse and some other emotion she could not name were splashing in them, "Forgive my rashness, I am not myself..." And then suddenly he chuckled, bitter lines still lying in the corners of his lips, "Mahal help me, I am my own shadow, there is all this fog in my mind… And in a maiden's dream no less..." He emitted another joyless chuckle, and then he suddenly stepped to the table and pulled her after him, still not releasing her hand. "Please, do sit down. Let us speak." His tone was soft now, and she shortly thought that he could be convincing when he wanted. He had let go of her fingers finally, she sat on the chair he had pulled out for her, and she decorously folded her hands on her lap.

"So, honourable healer… What do you think your purpose is here?"

"Mine?" She asked him, and suddenly it seemed rather entertaining to her. What a cantankerous Dwarf! Thinking everything was about him! "It is my dream, my lord, perhaps you are the one serving some unknown purpose here." This time the same brow flew much higher, in a sardonic gesture, and she had to press her lips together to hide a smile. Perhaps, he could even be considered charming.

"I would dispute with you, honourable healer, and bring up the differences in our stature as an argument but I seem to be in your power here. You can always leave, and all I will have left is waiting for your return." He had magnificent voice, low and velvet. He was teasing her, mocking her, but it felt light-hearted, and she felt different kind of blush burn on her cheekbones this time. She was not used to having conversations with men outside her service.

He also had very astute eyes, and she wondered what she must have looked like to him. And immediately she chastised herself for vanity. What sort of foolish thoughts were these? It was a dream, he was a Dwarf, and… there was no way around it, he was dead. She twitched her nose in her usual nervous habit, felt even more embarrassed by this gesture, and dropped her eyes at the her hands.

"Do you think that perhaps you are here to assist me in my passing?" He asked suddenly, and she caught underlying hopefulness in his voice. She certainly had given it a thought and eventually deemed such idea absurd.

"My lord, I am no Khazad, and with all my heart, that would be preposterous. My everyday pursuits lie in exactly the opposite. To guide people to life, and not to..."

"Death?" He finished her statement and gave her another of his sarcastic snortles. "That had been taken care, as you can see." She lifted her eyes and could not help but look him over. He was sitting reclining languishly in his chair, arms folded on his chest, in the gesture that was perhaps characteristic to him, not crossed, just one hand clasped above the elbow of the other arm. His eyes were twinkling mockingly, and she jerked her chin up.

"I do not know why I am here, and why you are here, my lord. If I was indeed placed here to assist you, they should have left clearer instructions." She spoke haughtily, and suddenly he smiled sincerely. And Wren could not suppress a mawkish thought that this smile was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen in her life. The blue eyes shiny, thick black lashes hid the irises, little wrinkles ran from the corners of his eyes.

"You are an odd little creature, honourable healer." She swallowed with difficulty, from the fluttering that his low rumble sent through her chest.

"Well, I am afraid I am all you have, my lord." As soon as this quip fell off her lips, she realised the impudence of this statement, and in horror she clasped her hands over her mouth. And then he guffawed. It was an open, white-toothed laughter, already familiar crinkles in the corners of his eyes, he dropped his head back, her eyes fell on his throat, covered by black whiskers of his beard, and he kept on chuckling, and then he looked at her, and she could not tear her eyes from the little mischievous sparkles dancing in his blue irises.

"Fair enough, honourable healer. And what shall we do about it then?"


	6. Chapter 6

Wren wriggled hands on her lap, and taking a deep breath in she spoke firmly, "I have given it a lot of thought, my lord, once I discovered that the words you had spoken to me, although unknown to me previously, did indeed have meaning. And it means you are… something more than a figment of my imagination." She lifted her eyes and met his blue ones, amusement and apprehension mixed in them.

"Do you have a habit of imagining Dwarves in your dreams, honourable healer?" His tone was sarcastic, and her cheeks flushed from embarrassment. Although he said that he felt he was in her power, she indeed could try to leave through the doors she had arrived through, she also felt he was abusing his influence upon her. His derisive mocking words hurt, and she pressed her lips in a stubborn line.

"I do not wish to discuss my personal matters with you, my lord. I have been forced into these circumstances just like you. And I wonder..." She clenched her fists, "I wonder if you could at least attempt to act with more grace towards me." She felt her throat constrict from acute discomfort, but she jerked her chin up and met his eyes. She might have been a mere healer of Men and indeed a scrap of a girl, but she had very low opinion of men in general, and men who held themselves ungrateful towards women especially.

The Dwarf in front of her stayed immobile, giving her a grave look, and she kept their eyes locked. She would not allow anyone to treat her this way while awake, she was not to tolerate such misconduct in her dreams either.

"You have to forgive me, fair maiden," his voice was anything but remorseful, "But until I know that your intentions do deserve my grace, you have to allow me my mistrust. There is still a chance I am dying from my wounds in a delirium, and you are my figment of imagination, and not the opposite."

She opened her mouth to rebuke him, to tell him he had been dead for quite a while, although she seemed to remember that his death was indeed not instant, but suddenly she saw a glimpse of hope hidden deep inside of his eyes. And acute pity flooded her heart. He was scared, and confused, and she could imagine how feeling helpless and forsaken must have felt for this proud warrior. She was a woman and a healer, empathy was in her nature, and she softly exhaled.

"I cannot convince you, my lord, since I hardly understand anything myself. But let us agree to at least pretend to trust each other," she lowered her eyes, and suddenly he shifted and leaned ahead. He picked up her hands, her whole body jolted from the heat and roughness of his palms, and he gently pressed her fingers in his.

"Give me your word you are telling the truth, honourable healer, and I will try… to accept your words." His voice was coarse, and she returned his gesture, squeezing his digits and once again noticing the scorching skin.

"I give you my word, my lord, whatever I tell you is what I believe is true." He sighed and released her hands. They sat in silence for a few moments, he was staring at the wall behind her with unseeing eyes, she was discreetly studying his face. He looked healthy, approximately the same age she saw him portrayed in the drawing of the Dwarf named Ori during the Quest for Erebor, the same silver in his threads, black thick beard, and suddenly he shifted his eyes, and she blushed from his piercing gaze.

"How long have I been… gone in your understanding, honourable healer?"

"Two years."

"That is odd," he leaned back on the chair, and his palm lay on the table, she saw that there were no rings on his fingers. Altogether, except for the tunic and light linen trousers he wore nothing else, even in his hair there were no beads, which Wren knew was uncharacteristic for a Dwarf. He was bare in every way, his nakedness seemingly only covered for propriety purposes, while even his hair was unbraided. Another ridiculous thought visited her mind. He was very clean. His skin, nails, hair, everything seemed cleansed, fresh, and with all honesty such appearance was not to be expected from a man and from a Dwarf. Wren herself had an almost obsessive preoccupation with cleanness, but again she was a healer. And besides, it was in her character to execute control over her circumstances and surroundings. She was neat as a new pin, and somewhat apologetically annoying about it. She forced herself to stop studying his hand on the table, it was large and very wide, and she cleared her throat.

"What is odd, my lord?"

"Why do these encounters are happening right now? Would not they happen right after my demise if you were to play some role in the proceedings after?" She once again pressed her lips, thinking he was only seeing one possible explanation, but then she caught his eyes on her. She was shocked to see that they were mischievous, and one of his black brows suddenly twitched, "I have looked at your face enough by now, my lady, to understand that at the moment you are thinking I am being conceited..."

"Cantankerous was the word I was using in my head," she did not know where the boldness came from, and she blanched mortified. She just could not summoned what was going on with her. She had always praised herself on being cautious in her words and her conduct, but he was perplexing her, bothering her, and she just could not find her footing in this situation. He lifted his hand from the table and placed his fist in front of his mouth. She could still see the corners of his lips twitching in a suppressed smile. She could not believe it, he was not angry.

"So, if we accept that I am an arrogant oaf, and it is indeed your chess board," he gestured all around him, "what has recently happened to you, my lady, that you are now seeing a dead Dwarf in your dreams?" His tone was teasing. "Who is also by chance rather alive in here, since you do not speak Khuzdul and I seem to be teaching it to you." She chewed at her bottom lip. She had to admit, she had no satisfying explanation.

"Three moons ago I visited Erebor, my lord, but the dreams… I had had one the night before that, I saw your tomb in it." She gave him an awkward look. "I saw in it the details I could not have had knowledge of, but which later turned out to be true. And then in Erebor I got lost, and I saw your halls, and then the night after it was the one when we met first." She shifted on her chair in distress, but she thought she was to aim for honesty, "And looking back I have to admit… since the day I arrived to Dale, I have been drawn to your mountain. I have seen it in my dreams, and the rooms I saw in my dreams before… now I know they were to be found in Erebor as well, I just did not know that at the time."

"How long have you lived in Dale?" His tone was pensive, he was lost in his thoughts, his eyes shifting without seeing her.

"Almost seven moons. I arrived to Dale at the beginning of March. It is mid-September now, Autumnal Equinox. Why? Does it matter? Is the date important?" He gave it a thought, and then he shook his head.

"Nothing comes to mind..." He drummed his fingers on the table. "Is Autumnal Equinox significant to you, honorable healer?" Wren shook her head as well. She had been considering it as well. She eventually just assumed that the timing of their meetings was accidental.

"Well, honourable healer, since the two of us are as useless as Elf miners, we need to seek advice." She snorted, and he gave her a confused look. She blushed even harder.

"I apologise for my laughter, my lord, I just imagined an Elf miner." She felt endlessly awkward, she knew she had a strange sense of humour, and altogether he was hardly aiming to entertain her, but she had vivid imagination, and envisioning one of the Eldar, covered in grime and dirt, with a pick axe in hand, made her bit into her bottom lip to restrain her frolics. He blinked and stared at her. He probably used the expression without giving it much thought, and then one of the corners of his lips twitched.

"It is just an expression, honourable healer. 'Uthak fundu' in Khuzdul." She silently repeated the words, trying them on her lips, and he gave her an odd look she could not understand. "But back to the matters at hand. Since I seem to have little power in this situation, you will travel to Erebor again and will find Balin, son of Fundin. He was my trusted advisor for many years, and you will give him the account of our meetings."

His tone was commanding and leaving no doubt he expected her to comply with his orders. Asking for her opinion, apparently, did not even come to his mind. She was not sure herself whether she was going to argue with him or ask for more details regarding the task he was giving her, when his image wavered before her eyes, and she woke up.

* * *

_Ra adjini tada zasaziliki e... / I'll hope you'll remember me…_


	7. Chapter 7

Three days later Wren put on her healer's robe again and walked to the Erebor Gates. It was clear she would be only allowed into the visitors' parlour, and from there she would need to somehow reach Balin, son of Fundin. She wondered whether the King, and she was still uncertain what she thought about the overall matter of her dreams, had thought his order through. And also, she wondered whether some sort of madness resided in her, she was following a command of a dead person she saw in her dreams after all. All of what was happening was very much possibly her delirium, and she could imagine that she was in reality wandering streets her eyes unseeing and talking to herself. Wren had always in her life relied on her mind. This seemed to be the matter of heart, her heart, that was telling her with all possible certainty that her destiny for some inconceivable reason became intertwined with that of the King Under the Mountain. Wren had to learn to trust her heart, and that was an endeavour on its own.

She entered through the Erebor Gates carved in the stone flesh of the mountain, the statues of the Dwarves of the Past on either side of the wide passage, menacing and glorious. Dwarves, Men and even several Elves were rushing by, there were rows of wide tables, a Dwarf behind each greeting yet another visitor, some receiving a payment after presenting a parchment, some taken somewhere inside halls. On the side there were large doors, with several intimidating guards standing at them. The door she used to sneak in last time was now guarded as well. Wren gulped and searched the chamber with her eyes. She needed to find a way to get through the first line of defense of the Mountain.

Among the guards at the doors one Dwarf seemed taller and more imposing than the rest, his armour more opulent, and she assumed he was a captain of sorts. She took a deep breath and approached him decisively.

"Forgive me, kind sir, but I have a delicate matter to discuss with one of the residents of the city, and I was wondering if it were possible to send a message to him." In her pocket she had a courteously written letter she had spent two nights on, writing and rewriting it numerous amounts of times. She needed Balin, son of Fundin, whoever he was, to come and talk to her, but she clearly could not disclose any of what she was to talk about to him from the start. He would doubt her sanity in the conversation, there was no need to start with mad rambling about his late liege in her dreams.

The captain gave her a stern look, and she withstood his studying, her heart beating frantically. "Is the aforementioned person expecting you, fair maiden?"

"No, but he would appreciate if you assisted me once he heard of my affair," Wren pulled out her hand and stretched it with the letter between her fingers towards the Dwarf, "His name is Balin, son of Fundin. And the matter I came to discuss is very important." She felt she sounded childish, and apparently the Dwarf shared her sentiment. He stood in front of her, without lifting his hand to pick up the letter. Suddenly she heard a few quiet chuckles behind her, and she saw two of the guards exchanging derisive looks, quite obviously at her expense.

"I will be honest with you, fair maiden," the captain's tone was increasingly venomous, "I doubt Lord Balin would be interested in anything a woman from Dale were to tell him." Wren felt her hands grow cold. That was her usual reaction to distressing situations.

"I assure you, Master Dwarf, Lord Balin would want to hear what I have to say." She pushed the letter towards the Dwarf in a decisive gesture, praying her hands were not visibly shaking. "Please, do pass this letter to him. It is an urgent affair and I will wait for his answer here." There were a few instants of pause, and then the letter was taken out of her hands. She twirled on her heels and went into a corner of the chamber. There was a bench near a wall, and she sat down keeping her face cold and her back straight. She could see one of the guards disappearing inside the passage behind the door with her letter in his hand, and she breathed out. She just needed to sit there and hope she was eloquent enough in her writing.

* * *

She was not. Five hours later she was tired and cold, and famished, and no answer came. The guards left and the new ones came, the captain left two hours into her waiting, he threw her a disdainful look and she jerked her chin up. Faces changed in front of her constantly, the Dwarves at the desks stopped staring at her, and every nerve in her body was trembling from humiliation and exhaustion. She had not slept the night before, and suddenly she realised her eyes were closing. Another couple of hours passed, and then a guard approached her. She recognized him from the morning, he was one of those who laughed at her.

"Lord Balin is away on an important matter," he sneered through his teeth. She saw her letter in his stretched hand. It took her a moment to gather her strength and get up. Her knees were shaking.

"Do please ensure that this letter is left for him," her voice was trembling, but then she took a deep breath in and gave the guard a stern look. "Once he returns he needs to read it. And what is your name, kind sir? Once I meet Lord Balin I would like to mention to him that you were the person who ensured our encounter." She saw the Dwarf's face waver.

"Boin, son of Nar," he mumbled and then pushed her letter inside his brigandine.

"It's an honour to meet you, kind sir." She turned around and walked out of the chamber. She did all she could, and still, she felt like a failure.

Behind the Erebor Gates, she turned away from the path, maneuvering between carts and travellers crowding the paved road, and quickly walked into a grove on the side. She found a fallen tree and heavily sat on it.

Wren always found humiliation and shame harder to endure than loss and sadness. She cried for long, swallowing bitter tears and wiping her eyes with her sleeve. Somehow in all this discombobulation she managed to forget her handkerchief. One thought dominated her aggravation. How was she now to face the man in her dreams?

* * *

For the next moon neither the dreams, nor any news from Erebor came. Twice a week Wren would go to the inn she had met the two members of the King's company in the hopes to encounter them or any other of the twelve Dwarves who knew him personally. She was not certain how much she would share with them but she hoped they would help her reach Lord Balin. She did not succeed. The innkeeper informed her that none were seen there since she met them. She would leave hastily, not wishing to repeat the experience in Erebor.

She would still go to the library often, the curator had taken quite a liking to her by then. She assumed few people would come to the library, and after a while she started bringing him treats and chatting with him amicably. His mind seemed rather scattered, but not when it concerned his books. He was of immense help when she would require a volume on a certain topic.

One night a dream came but she knew it was of the usual sort, something any other person could have. It was vague and hazy, not sharp as her encounters with the King, it had no physicality, she was wandering some shadowy passages, he walked in from of her, she reached and touched his shoulder, but there were no sensations, unlike the rough scorching palms she felt grasping her hands in those halls. She woke up softly, without a jerk, and lay in her bed, watching the sun rays crawl on her sill, caressing the leaves of the herbs in the pots.

* * *

She was eating her dinner, once again lost in her thoughts, when Thea rushed in the inn, she never seemed to walk slowly, and dropped on a bench in front of Wren.

"My darling, you do not look so well," Thea's tone was decisive. She was right, Wren had lost weight and slept poorly these days. She had had no beauty to tarnish before it, but she indeed looked even paler and thinner now. She was dreading nights, she had nothing to tell the stern King in them. "I decided I am taking over your affairs. Share your grievance with me."

Wren stared in her plate, the bread and cheese on it were hardly touched. "I do not have any grievances..." She did not sound very convincing.

"Poppycock, my darling," Thea picked up a circle of cucumber from Wren's plate and crunched it with gusto. "I am waiting, love, what is ailing you? If it is a man, I assure you I am your best chance for success." By then Wren knew there was no stopping Thea. She gave it a thought, she could use some help, she felt utterly lost.

"It is not a man, but… I need to contact a Dwarf in Erebor, but he is gone. Or at least they told me so..." She lifted her eyes at the woman in front of her. Thea encouraged her to continue with a flamboyant wave of a hand. "And even if I met with him, he might not be able to help me…" Thea tut-tutted and pointed at Wren's plate.

"Firstly, eat. You look like you are made of twigs these days. And secondly, what is exactly the matter? Let's look at its root. What are you trying to achieve in general?" The question felt like a bright flash in Wren's mind. Thea was right, she was looking at the matter from the wrong side.

"I need to talk to someone about the death of King Thorin II." Her calm measured words hung above the table like a ring of pipeweed smoke. Thea blinked several times.

"Maiar help me, chick, is anything ever simple with you?" Wren emitted a nervous chuckle and stuffed her mouth with bread. "Alright, then… Have you considered talking to King Bard? He accepts visitors every Tuesday. He knew the Dwarf personally."

Had Thea not helped her friend, that could have been the end of this story. The bread crumbs Wren choked on and Thea helped her to cough out could have ended Wren's adventure for good. Thankfully five minutes later she was still breathing and taking small sips from the mug an inn help hastily brought for her. It was Monday, and now Wren had plans for the next day.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: ****My darling Grammar Nazi A.****, you are of course right! Thank you for letting me know! The singular form of Dwarf would indeed be 'Khuzd.' I never even doubted myself, which once again reminds me that I should check this kind of stuff. I don't like the word though, I'll probably will stick with "of the Khazad" from now on. **

**I apologise to ****all my readers**** for the mistake, but I think I'll just leave it in my previous stories. I hope people prefer me to keep on writing further than going back to fix it in fifty stories minus modern AUs ;)**

**A/N#2: Just a small disclaimer than all my stories are AUs where the book and the films mix.**

* * *

Wren had four dresses in her possession, the healer's robe, two grey garments, modest and practical, and a dark blue velvet dress for the days like this one. She threw the cloak over it, October was approaching its end, and swiftly walked to the large house occupied by Bard the Bowman, King of Dale, his three children and the small group of his counsellors.

Politics interested Wren not, but she had certain appreciation for the former bargeman. Wren had lived in Gondor and Bree, and she had noticed the differences between the customs and the ways between the cities of Men. Dale was being restored from ruin, and still it had a clean feel to it. Wren felt such was the desire of the people inhabiting it who had previously resided in Esgaroth where corruption and filth seemed to have penetrated every act and every relationship. Bard, though not of noble blood and having no such station in his past, seemed to have a propensity for rule, taxes and trade were strictly regulated and observed, fraud punished swiftly. Wren assumed that in a few years, perhaps a decade the unnatural saturation of the city would be gone, slumps and brothels would appear, bureaucracy and bribery would spread into all areas of life, as such was the nature of Men, but so far Wren was relishing her life in Dale. She had traveled the Middle Earth since she was thirteen, she was intending to enjoy staying in one place for as long as it was possible.

She entered the visitors parlour, and with apprehension she noticed nausea rising in her. She understood the experience in Erebor had affected her more that she had admitted, and the potential repetition of it irked her. She scolded herself, she should not have allowed such mawkishness in herself, she needed to keep her head high.

In the chamber she saw one table, with a young man sitting and scribbling industriously with a quill in a large volume. Wren cleared her throat, and the boy, he was hardly over eighteen lifted his face. He had bright brown eyes, clear and friendly, and she exhaled.

"I am here to see King Bard, if it is possible. I have a matter to discuss with him." The boy smiled wider and nodded.

"Please, sign your name and vocation in the book, if you can write. If not, I can do it for you, and that is the door," he pointed at a door to his right with the quill that he then handed to her. She quickly wrote her name and rushed to the door. She was censoring herself for agitation, but could not seemingly reign her emotions.

"Honourable healer," the boy called after her, and she stopped her hand on the ring on the door, "You are stealing my quill." She stared at the object in her hand, and suddenly she laughed. She had been so shaken and strained that she seemed to have forgotten herself. It was time to remember she was Wren of Enedwaith and not a frightened kitten. She returned to his table and handed the quill back.

"I am so rattled," she shared with the boy conspiratorily, "I have never met a King in my life." She shortly thought it was hardly true, she had conversed with a King before, twice, though there was still a chance she was mad as a box of frogs. That reminded her of the reason of her visit, and she took a shaky breath in.

"You should not worry, King Bard is a simple man. Just share your grievances openly, and he will help you." The boy smiled to her again, this time encouragingly, and she opened the door and entered the room behind it.

* * *

Two people in the chamber were laughing, in quiet voices but gleefully. One of them, a young woman, almost a girl, Wren quickly assumed, was Tilda, the younger daughter of King Bard, she was about the age of fourteen or fifteen, and she had just poked the man beside her under his ribs. King Bard was still pressing his palms over his side, feigning pain and weakness. He was seated, mockingly slumping, on a chair behind a large desk, parchments and quills littering it, and his daughter was towering over him, her index finger lifted menacingly again. Wren realised she should have knocked.

She made an awkward step back, when the King shifted his dark astute eyes at her and smiled. He had distinct masculine features and striking dark hair with noble threads of silver in them. He was a very attractive man, she had not been aware, and she felt immediately flustered. She had little practice in conversing with men outside her service.

"Alright, darling, off you go," The King got up and softly pushed his daughter towards the door. The girl snickered and rushed by Wren throwing her a short friendly look. Wren followed her with her eyes. "Good day, honourable healer," Wren whipped her head back and stared at him.

"My lord," she quickly curtseyed, and then she looked at his in astonishment, "But how?.." The King smiled and invited her to sit in front of the desk with a small wave of his hand.

"I have seen you in the city infirmary once, you are rather hard to forget, honourable healer. The hair after all does stand out among the Men of Dale." Wren suppresses a desire to smoothen her unruly curls. She spent an hour in the morning to braid her hair tightly, and yet her head was already surrounded by a halo of small copper springs. They sat, her before him, and she bit into her bottom lip. She had prepared a speech but the view of his intense dark eyes and bold features was jumbling her thoughts.

"How can I help you, honourable healer?" His tone was soft, he was obviously trying to hearten her, and she clenched her hands on the lap. She had prepared a smooth lie, but now the words were stuck in her throat. Something was pushing her to be open with the man in front of her. She suppressed the urge, she knew well that having a lonely life such as hers one tended to place their trust in wrong people.

"My lord, I have come for academic purposes," she started with her lie, and she just could not meet his eyes. "I have been studying volumes in the city library, I have fondness for history and learning of other races' cultures, and I was wondering if you could spare me some time and share some of your memories and thoughts with me. I understand you carry great responsibility and are very much preoccupied, but maybe I could come back at some favourable moment..." She finally made herself look at him, he was listening with an amicable expression, and she felt almost sick. He could refuse her, but that would make her feel relieved. She did not enjoy deceiving him.

"That is quite an odd favour to ask, especially coming from a healer and a midwife, my lady," there was good humour laced in his voice. She squirmed on her chair. Perhaps a bit of honesty could help her case.

"I had a chance to visit Erebor a few moons ago, my lord, and I found that whatever knowledge on the Dwarven culture we have in the volumes in the city library is rather lacking. So I was hoping… Since you took an active part in the establishment of relations between our cities you could perhaps tell me more."

"And are you planning to write a book, honourable healer?" Bard asked, his eyes studying her face. She felt blush rising, she was leading herself in a trap.

"Yes, my lord," she quickly decided to divert the conversation from the topic, "I am specifically interested in Dwarven medicine, battle injuries and such, since such is my expertise. You have taken part in the Battle of the Five Armies, and there were so many wounded. I was wondering if you could tell me."

"Would not asking the Dwarves themselves be more beneficial?" Wren had anticipated this question and had thought her answer through.

"I have tried, my lord. I have gone to Erebor again, a few weeks ago, and I was advised by several Dwarves to seek audience with Lord Balin, son of Fundin, since all who spoke to me assumed he would be most inclined to talk to me. But he is unfortunately away from the Mountain." The King was silent for a few moments, Wren's heart was beating frantically, but she showed little on her face. It was a crucial moment, she felt, and she needed to be canny.

"I remember Lord Balin well, we have spoken many times after the Battle," the King turned his face to the tall window, gloomy morning light streaming through clean glass, "He is a man of honour and great mind." He met her eyes again, and she saw him frown. "But I doubt the Khazad will be willing to help you in your pursuits, honourable healer. They are not fond of sharing their knowledge."

"I have assumed that much. That is why I came to you. You were there, there were probably healer's tents. Their King was wounded. You spoke to him before his passing." Wren was speaking in an even tone, almost disbelieving herself how much command she had over her voice and her face. "Do you remember much of how they treated him and his warriors?" She knew his answer in advance, but she needed to go through all the necessary steps. She felt she was playing chess, and she knew without false modesty she was good at the game.

"I am no healer, my lady, all I saw was wounds and blood and balms and bandages. I am ignorant in this, I can hardly help you." Wren lowered her head as if in disappointment, and them she fidgeted with the hem of her cloak, her agitation almost genuine, and then lifted her face, knowing well that her cheekbones were burning.

"Forgive me, my lord, but I have to also confess personal curiosity. I have read a few accounts of that time, and I am embarrassed to admit it, but the figure of King Thorin fascinates me. And one of the Khazad I spoke to mentioned you were present at his funeral." She leaned ahead, hoping that the look of idle sentimental curiosity she had practised in front of her mirror all morning looked genuine. "What happened then? What was it like?"


	9. Chapter 9

"Aye, honourable healer, I was there..." The King leaned back in his chair, his brown eyes on the window. Wren looked as well, the sun was dancing through the colourful pieces of the stained glass on the window sill. "It was a solemn ceremony, they bury their Kings deep under the Mountain, under a massive stone. He died as a hero, but there were still grievances unresolved between our peoples… Not everyone wanted to see Men there, to say nothing of King Thranduil..."

King Bard's voice trailed away, and Wren did not dare speak up. She knew of the circumstances of course, of how the Arkenstone, the King's Jewel of Erebor was in the possession of the Elves and Men, and how prominent the possibility of the war between the three races had been, if not for the appearance of the Orcs and the Wargs.

The man shook off his pensiveness and looked at her. "It was several days after the Battle and after he passed away. They had been preparing the tomb, and the stone for it, carving his semblance on it." Wren remembered her dream, the noble profile in white stone, the oaken branch shield intricately etched in it. Suddenly a knock at the door made them both turn their heads.

The boy from the parlour stuck his head inside, and after giving Wren a quick friendly look he whispered, "Forgive me, but there are merchants from Gondor… You said to let you know immediately..."

"Give me another minute," the King smiled to the boy, who nodded and closed the door again. "Forgive me, honorable healer..." Wren had already jumped up on her feet. He quickly followed.

"I have wasted a lot of your time..."

"I wish I could help you better..." They were talking at the same time, and Wren blushed and made a step back.

"Honourable healer..." She froze and looked at him expectantly. He was seemingly making some internal decision. "On Fridays I hold dinners with various townsfolk, I invite people to discuss the city affairs, and perhaps you could accompany the Chief Healer this Friday. I will write to him. And after it we could converse more... I will answer your questions, and..." There was uncertainty in his tone for the first time through this encounter, and she rushed to reassure him.

"Oh, I am endlessly grateful, my lord! I will be honoured. And thank you, thank you again." Her voice was ringing with sincere delight, and he smiled to her widely. He had a warm and open smile, and she could not help but return it.

"And I will write to Lord Balin, and a few other Dwarves who, I hope, would be willing to help you. Perhaps, some will meet with you. But do not expect them to answer soon, Dwarves take their time. And still, honourable healer, I would not hold a lot of hope." She nodded, and thanking him again and again she rushed to the door and out into the visitor parlour.

* * *

A few tall dark-haired Men passed her, and she jumped away from their path. The door closed behind them, and she breathed out in relief. And then just because this visit was such a taxing affair, and she had been so apprehensive, and it went so well, she exhaled gleefully again and clapped her hands several times. A soft laughter came from the table, and she looked at the boy again.

"You have a wonderful King, I have to say," she laughed as well, and he nodded readily. "Maiar, help me, I might consider staying in the city for all my life if that is our liege."

"Da is indeed a decent man," the boy was giving her a mischievous look, and she squeaked and pressed her hands over her mouth. She had not realised whom she was speaking to.

"Forgive me, kind sir," she hastily curtseyed, and he laughed loudly. "Such an insolence..."

"Do I suddenly look impressive to you, honourable healer?" Bain, son of Bard, was smiling to her sunnily, he had his father's smile, and she suddenly felt bold.

"I have to say you still look like a lanky youngling, honorable sir. And you do not spend enough time outside, if you ask for my professional opinion, you are too pale." This time they were laughing together, the boy dropped the quill on the table, and they did not stop even when a young woman entered the room carrying a roll of some fabric.

"Are you not supposed to be working on the register, Bain?" The woman's tone was good natured, and Wren choked at her frolics. Sigrid, daughter of Bard, had been renown for her beauty, and Wren wondered how she had not recognised her instantly after seeing her sister earlier. They had the same bright eyes, delicate features, opulent soft hair.

"I am receiving compliments in the place of our liege, Sigrid," Bain grinned to his sister, and Wren felt endlessly embarrassed. She seemed to be making a false step after another today. She quickly mumbled her thank you's and goodbye's and rushed out of the building.

* * *

She returned to the infirmary the next day, and the Chief Healer confirmed to her the invitation to the King's House for that Friday. He sounded surprised and confused by why a simple healer was asked to join him, but from the formal point of view she was after all his apprentice, and the Chief Healer assumed the King was just trying to be courteous and considerate towards the poor girl. Wren did not deem correcting him necessary.

She worked hard for the next two days, and at the evening of Thursday she was in her room cleaning the velvet dress. It was the only appropriate one, and she should not have felt inadequate, but an unfamiliar desire to look just a wee bit more attractive woke up in her. She was a reasonable girl and admitted to herself that she was clearly under the impression from the King. Vanity was not in her character, she knew how unassuming her looks were, but she suddenly lamented the dull dress. She spent a few minutes struggling with herself, and then decisively marched to her friend Thea's room.

Some loud noise was coming from inside, and Wren prayed to all Maiar she was not interrupting a lovers tryst. She knocked, and the door opened. Wren exhaled in relief, the room was full of winegirls who were drinking wine and chatting. They greeted Wren enthusiastically, and she waved to them.

"Thea, I am here just for a moment. Could I borrow a shawl from you? I am invited to a dinner with..." Wren did not manage to finish her request, Thea grabbed her hand and pulled her into the room. Wren quickly realised she was the only sober person there.

"Ladies, shush!" Thea's loud voice made the winegirls close their mouths and stare at her. "The world is clearly coming to an end, our little bird came for a beautification advice!"

"No, no, I just need..." Wren mumbled in panic, but the winegirls had already started cheering and clapping in delight. Wren understood she was doomed. She was seated on Thea's bed, they surrounded her, demanding explanation. Thea was already pulling out some garments from her numerous trunks, someone was approaching Wren with a brush, and she was ready to weep from embarrassment and terror.

"It is a formal dinner, it is not romantic..." She was trying to explain, but she was not heard. As soon as she mentioned the King's House, there started a lively discussion, mostly on which colour would suit her best, and one of the winegirls, her build similar to Wren's was sent to her room for dresses. Wren considered jumping out through the window. Through chatter and laughter she managed to catch Thea's loud glorifying of King Bard's merits, some of which Wren herself had not paid attention to during her visit and now could not stop thinking about, then other winegirls started mentioning his counsellors, someone even mused on his son's age, and Wren clasped her hands over her ears.

She managed to escape them only with the first light of the morning. Pins and ribbons were an unfamiliar bother in her hair, and she fell on her bed with a groan. An elegant emerald coloured velvet dress with an exquisite lace chemise were waiting for the evening on the chair, and she groaned again. The girls were so exuberant to turn an ugly duckling into a moderately swan like bird that, as much as she was resisting, the garments became a gift, as well as a modest pendant on a chain. All the winegirls' efforts were accompanied with terrifying threats of what painful and slow demise expected Wren if she were not to follow their instructions and even considered putting on her old dress. Wren closed her eyes and prayed Maiar for a peaceful passing in her sleep.

* * *

_Ra nî lomil tamhari, akhsigabi azâgê... / And if the night is burning, I will cover my eyes..._

* * *

She was once again in front of the doors, and she pushed them. King Thorin II, son of Thrain, son of Thror was sitting at the table, his fingers impatiently drumming on the polished surface. He jerked his face up, and the pair of glacial blue eyes fixed on her. He was frowning, his lips set in an arrogant irked line.

"What did Balin say?"

And maybe because Wren was still bedraggled by the evening with the winegirls, or perhaps because the images of another King, with soft respectful manners, and of another pair of eyes, greenish brown, warm and amicable, were still fresh in her memory, she lifted her chin haughtily and gave him a glare.

"Perhaps, a slightly politer greeting is in order, my lord." Her tone was venomous, and she did not shy away from it. Maiar help her, she had been through quite a lot for his sake.


	10. Chapter 10

"I suggest you give up on the idea of empty decorum, honourable healer. Mahal knows how long this visit of yours will last, and we have matters to discuss. So forgive my lack of manners, and do enunciate." She could not believe it! Not only he had not softened his tone, he was practically snarling at her.

"I have nothing to enunciate, my lord," she sneered through her teeth. "I have not achieved any success in the task you have bestowed me with." The glare of his cold eyes became even more hostile, and she clenched her fists. "I was not given a chance to meet Lord Balin, since as you have correctly observed in our first meeting, I am nothing but a scrap of a girl. They did not let me into the Erebor any further than the visitors chamber. And none of my letters were answered." She was watching him and could see he was trying to reign his temper as he should have from the start. She had no fault at her, and she had tried!

"What other steps have you taken, honourable healer? How long has it been?" It still felt like an interrogation, and she asked herself why she had even opened the door to this hall. Next time, she promised herself, she would not subject herself to this humiliation, she would only come in if she had anything useful to tell him.

"It has been over a moon, and I have spoken to King Bard..."

"What?!" His enraged growl made her stop in her tracks. "The bargeman?!" Anger and disdain danced in his eyes, his lips twisted in a derisive mocking grimace, and Wren had reached the limit of her patience.

"It is my King you are talking about. I am of Men of Dale and he is my liege! And the only decent man I have encountered so far in this cursed quest for your sake!" It was not true, she immediately thought, the two Dwarves in the inn were willing to help her, but the humiliation she had endured in Erebor was still fresh and painful.

"He is the last man you were to go to!" The King jumped on his feet and made two steps towards her. Though no taller than her he was intimidating, even knowing he was just a dream, she felt how much danger resided in him. "You were told to find Balin!.."

"You are not to tell me what to do! You are nothing but my nightmare!" She yelled back, and he winced away. She felt suffocated in this hall all of a sudden, and it felt so little like a dream and so much reminded of her childhood, being locked up in a cold room and deprived of any freedom, that she felt hysterics rising. "I had a peaceful life! I served, I had my room, for the first time in my life I found a place I belonged. I should be looking for a husband and not running around or sitting in libraries all night trying to uncover why you just would not die!" She saw she was wounding him, he was growing paler, his jaw clenched, but she did not care.

She felt terrified, her life was escaping her control, and just like in her parents' house she had no power over it. She had always made all her decisions herself since she had run away when she was thirteen, she travelled, she came and went when she felt it was time. She now felt Dale was the place to stay, and although she was hiding the thought even from herself, meeting King Bard reminded her she was after all a woman. She always knew passionate and tender romance was hardly in the books for her. She was unattractive, odd, and she knew herself her character was not among those that men found agreeable. She was wilful, stubborn and although it took a while she could be shaken out of her collectedness, and then an outburst would follow. Just like at the moment she was screaming at a ghost, her chest heaving and eyes narrowed.

On the other hand, surely there could be a reasonable man who would offer her a quiet home. Wren only wished one thing in her life, a child. She could cook, she had a respectable vocation, and her behaviour was not of wanton nature. A mature and serious widower would be a perfect match for her, she would be happy if he already had children as well. She was in no hurry, of course, it was not like her youthful beauty was withering. If she were honest with herself, she only mentioned a husband now as a figure of speech.

She assumed he would now remind her how trivial her claims were in comparison with his grievances, and how he had not chosen to visit her dreams, as opposed to some Dwarven healer who could do so much more for him, she was prepared for another outburst of his fury. She was not prepared for what followed. He swayed, closing his eyes in exhaustion, his noble face wan, and he had to place his hand on the back of the nearest chair to stay upright. She did not allow the same pity and compassion as before rise in her. She glanced at him and saw that his face remained arrogant, and he glared at her imperiously.

"You do not have much choice, honourable healer. Your quest for a good husband will have to be postponed." His voice was now weaker, she could almost hear a tremble in it, but the tone remained unpleasant, "You have been chosen to..."

"I was not chosen, it is clearly a mistake!" Her hands flew up in her common energetic gesture. "I am the least fitting person for this!"

"Stop interrupting me!" He bellowed and pushed away from the chair. He made a step to her, she shied away, and then the chair he apparently toppled fell on the stone floor with deafening rumble. They both looked down at it.

"You broke it..." Her voice was quiet and disbelieving, the midrail cracked and the spindles were now askew. "Do you have a habit of breaking furniture when you are displeased, my lord?"

He looked at her, looking suddenly almost embarrassed, and wiped his face with his large palm. "You bring out the worst in me, honourable healer. And I have never been in a situation that… I have never met a creature this infuriating before." She could not hold back a quizzical chuckle, he was putting the blame on her! And of course, she could never restrain her witticisms.

"Then you have not known that many women." It was his turn to look at her incredulously.

"That was hardly among my priorities, my lady. And I am afraid it is too late for it now." She was gawking at him while he bent down, picked up the chair and then invited her to sit on another one in front of him. She felt rebellious. Even now with his features softened and his tone milder, he was still irking her. She had tried, and though she could not say any grievances had befallen her for his sake she felt he could have been a bit more grateful.

"Just as you said, my lord, we do not know how long this encounter will last. I am just informing you that I have another meeting with King Bard tomorrow, and I am hoping to find out more about… about circumstances surrounding your funeral." His lips twitched at her words. "And he promised to write to Erebor for me. Perhaps, Lord Balin or someone else will be willing to meet with me."

"What did you tell him? Did you tell him of these dreams?"

"Of course not. He would think me mad. I said I was interested in Dwarven medicinal practices. I am a surgeon, it is hardly a lie." She jerked her chin up and was prepared to rebuke him if he dared mocking her, but he remained quiet studying her face. He had very astute eyes, piercing, and she felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny.

"I will be frank with you, honourable healer, I do not think it is the circumstances of my funeral, or my death for that matter that are to be inspected, it is my life. There must be an unpaid debt that has to be returned. You need to speak with Balin." He looked exhausted, thinned now, and she wondered whether she was imagining the changes from her previous encounter or he indeed was less corporeal now. "I assume I died with honour, I am probably buried under the Mountain..."

"In a tomb of white stone…" She added quietly, and he nodded.

"Where is my sword?" Something in his tone reminded her he was once a man of flesh, and she suppressed a smile. Men and their blades…

"It is placed on your tomb, to act as a beacon in case any danger is approaching Erebor." She saw a glimpse of warmth in his eyes, and the hand on the table twitch, probably remembering the hilt.

"And the Arkenstone? Has it been returned to Dain?"

"It is buried with you. King Thranduil placed it on your chest." He looked at her in surprise.

"The Elf gave it up? What did he ask in return?"

"I know little about it, my lord, I only know the destiny of the stone from the books in the library. A Dwarf named Ori described it in a scroll."

"Ori..." A small smile grazed the King's lips, and Wren once again felt amazed by how the smallest of smiles could change his face. "So he lived."

"They all did. All your company." The smile was gone, and his face grew dark again.

"Not all of them, not my sister-sons..." They were silent for a few instants, and then he shook his head slightly.

He stood his back to her, his hands placed on the table, and then he turned, and she met his blazing blue eyes. Her breath caught, from the open pain splashing in them, and she even thought she saw tears glistening in them.

"Help me, Wren..." His lips wrapped around her name for the first time, and a shock ran through her body. "You are the only one who is here. I know you think it mistake, but there must be design behind it. Help me..." He stretched his hand to her, and she placed her fingers on his palm. They held each other's gaze, and then she gasped and opened her eyes.

* * *

_Ra adjini tada zasaziliki e... / I'll hope you'll remember me…_


	11. Chapter 11

The dinner in King Bard's house turned out to be a simple and merry affair. Wren first felt rather discomforted, she wore the dress the winegirls gave to her, and she felt the ribbons and pins in her hair were excessive, trying to make her look more attractive, she felt, was like decorating a dry twig with a Summer Solstice wreath, but soon she had forgotten about her aggravation. She was seated between the Chief Healer and the wife of one of the King's counsellor, a round merry woman, who only wanted to talk about her children, which for Wren was the perfect subject to discuss. Between conversing about children's diseases and teething pains Wren had not noticed how the dinner was over, and men moved to the parlour to smoke and talk. Women stayed behind, more conversation on children and housekeeping ensued, and Wren sat quietly in the corner, on a settee with King Bard's daughter Tilda, and she felt sleepy from abundant food and the warmth coming from the fireplace, when Tilda touched her sleeve shaking her out of the pleasant daze.

"You are Wren, the healer from Enedwaith, are you not?" The girl had laughing bright eyes, and Wren smiled to her.

"Yes, I am."

"Da mentioned you," the girl's face had a mischievous expression, and Wren blushed furiously. Surely she had no reason to, because the girl meant nothing by it, but Wren had never had much control over the colour of her cheeks. "So you have travelled here to serve?"

"I have. I lived in Gondor before, and now I am here."

"But you are staying, right?" The girl moved closer, and Wren did not know what to think.

"Tilda, I am certain honourable healer feels suffocated by now. Any closer, and you will be sitting on her lap," the King's older daughter came up to them from the fireplace she was standing by, talking to some other women. Wren knew Sigrid had been married recently and with light envy Wren saw how she was now accepted into the circle of other women, while Wren and Tilda were sitting aside. On the other hand, Wren found the situation rather comical. Wren has crossed the half mark of their third decade, most of the women in the room were younger than her. "You have to forgive her, honourable healer, she is having ideas." This statement did not bring any relief to Wren. Neither did the same mischievous light dancing in the eyes of the older King's daughter. Wren squirmed on the settee.

At that moment the door to the parlour opened and a few men returned. The King was among them, and he searched the room with his eyes. Once he noticed Wren, he stretched his hand to her.

"Honourable healer, would you join me in my study for that discussion I have mentioned before?" Wren felt mortified, she was worried to turn and face the girls, and she felt she almost had to explain to them that they had a wrong impression from what was happening, when she heard a squeal from the younger one, and with terror Wren realised it was a happy one. She rose on her feet and dashed to him, ignoring the murmur behind her and the burning of her cheeks.

* * *

His study was a large room, walls covered with bookshelves, much more homey than the one he accepted visitors in, there was a doublet thrown on the back of a chair, it was obvious he spent a lot of time in the room, and she felt she was intruding. He apologised for the disorder, quickly threw the doublet somewhere behind his large desk and invited her to come in.

To reign her emotions she allowed herself some exploration, and her eyes roamed the room. On the wall she saw a small oval portrait of a young woman, the same eyes as his daughters, hair in soft waves.

"Is that your wife?"

"Yes, I commissioned it two years ago. It was drawn from memory." She stopped in front of it.

"She was a very beautiful woman. How many years has it been?" She felt acute sympathy to him, he was looking at the portrait with genuine melancholy.

"Almost ten years, Tilda was not even five when it happened. The vile air of Esgaroth, she died of consumption." Wren nodded solemnly, it was a very common cause of death in Esgaroth even now.

They were looking at the portrait, and Wren realised he was standing rather close. And she realised it was hardly unpleasant. She obviously did not think of him as a man, but she liked the thought that if ever she were in a romantic situation with another, it would seem she could enjoy such physical closeness. She turned her head and met his eyes. He softly smiled to her, and she returned the expression.

"Well, honourable healer," there was some new intonation in his voice, "Shall we converse about Dwarven healing practices or you think you could talk honestly to me now and tell me what it is you really need?"

Wren's eyes widened, and her breathing hitched. All she could think in panic was that it was her own stupidity and mawkishness that once again led her into this trap, just like in Erebor when she wandered away. And now she was facing the King, his face slightly mocking, dark eyes fixed on her. She swallowed with difficulty, her mind frantically searching for a fitting lie.

"Wren..." He drew out, and her body jolted. For the second time in a few hours her name would fall from the lips of a man, while years had passed since she heard it the last time in the same circumstances. "I doubt there are some ill intentions behind your inquiries. And you can be open with me." She dropped her eyes, and thoughts whirred in her mind. She could disclose some truth, not all, but she could tell him she had a letter from King Thorin, as an example, tell him she needed to pass it to Lord Balin, or something of that ilk. And then suddenly King Bard's firm hand lay on her upper arm, and she lifted her face to him. He was towering over her, but she felt no intimidation.

And then she realised the position they were in, and she felt terrified he would think it was why she searched his audience, that she was attempting to titillate him, and she rushed to reassure him.

"I do need to know about King Thorin, and the funeral, and Erebor… And the Arkenstone..." He looked at her slightly frowning, and she went on, "But it is a secret, and not mine to share… I gave my word to help, but it is no machination, and I do not have any ill intentions… I promised to help, and I have to try..." She needed to convince him, and her hand lay on his as if without her will, "I am begging you to believe me, my lord…" His eyes roamed her face, and then he glanced on her small hand covering his. The features of his masculine face softened, and he gave her a small smile.

"I believe you, honourable healer." She exhaled in relief, and he stepped away from her, his strong large hand sliding from under her palm, "And I will tell you all I know. But know that my knowledge is lacking. I had the people of Dale to worry about at that time, and the war was only just over..." He walked away from her and invited her to sit on an armchair in front of his desk. "I do know that they did not lie to you in Erebor. I received a letter this morning. Lord Balin is indeed away from the Mountain. But there are others who could help you. If not the Dwarves, then others perhaps… Gandalf the Grey, the wizard, would know much more than I do, and possess much more wisdom that I ever could." She smiled to his modesty, and he gave her a small nod. "I could write to him, I have heard he is in Ithilien now. There is the unrest on those borders, they say the attacks from Haradrim have redoubled, and the Rangers are constantly under strain there… And there is always King Thranduil..." Wren looked at the man in confusion. "It is just a few days of travel, Mirkwood, it is much safer these days, and he rarely accepts visitors, but I could write to him as well, asking to assist you, and hopefully he might consider seeing you."

Wren's mind raced. Gandalf the Grey had been King Thorin's companion, she knew of their disagreement at the end of the quest, but he was knowledgeable, and who but a wizard would be able to help her in matters of dreams and ghosts? On the other hand, a letter reaching him in his travels was a rather hopeless business, especially in far away Ithilien. She could always try to travel there herself, attempt to find him, but he was elusive like wind, she knew that much of his kind. Mirwood, on the other hand, was indeed very close, but the idea of meeting the King of Wooden Realm terrified her. For an instant she felt acute desire for her life to return to its simpleness and serenity of those days when she knew nothing of King Thorin. And then she berated herself, there was no use in such thoughts.

"So, my lady," King Bard's voice shook her out of her stupour, "What is it going to be? Ithilien or Mirkwood?"


	12. Chapter 12

And that was the moment when with all possible clarity Wren understood that she was seeing the dead Dwarven King in her dreams, and he was as real as the man standing in front of her. Wren realised she could not give King Bard the answer to his question as it was not her decision to make.

"I thank you, my lord, for all the help you are offering. Would you be so kind as to write a letter to the Mountain, to Lord Balin and ask him to meet me? As for your letters to Gandalf the Grey and King Thranduil, is it possible to ask you to wait a bit until I know for certain how to proceed?"

King Bard was studying her face and then nodded. She curtseyed gratefully and was going to leave his study when he gently picked up her hand.

"Wren, do give me your word that if you are forced into something that you are not willing to do, you will tell me so and will ask for my help."

His eyes were warm, and suddenly Wren could see a man behind the title. A father of two daughters, she thought, he perhaps saw in her another girl to protect and aid, and for an instant she felt like confiding in him and sharing her difficulties. And she even thought that perhaps there was a chance he would believe her, after all he met King Thorin when the latter had lived, and Wren now knew a lot of details that could serve as a proof. And yet she took a small step back pulling her hand out of his warm strong palm. She told herself such decision were not to be taken rashly, but she knew she would not change her mind, and no considering it would make her share her secret with any other but Lord Balin or any others King Thorin were to choose. She knew she would lament the comfort King Bard was offering, but she was adamant.

"Thank you, my lord, I give you my word to turn to you if any distress befalls me." She heard herself how hollow and insincere her voice was, and after a few moments of tense silence King Bard nodded surrendering to her determination.

* * *

The evening was over, guests were saying their goodbyes, and Wren hastily thanked the host and his kin. She once again felt that King Bard's children might have had some very much erroneous notions about her, and her cheeks were burning headily while she quickly wrapped into her cloak and left their house.

She returned to her inn, cowardly sneaking through the backdoor, hoping to escape the winegirls who would definitely want a detailed account of her evening. She dragged the new dress off, pulled the pins and ribbons out of the hair, scattering her curls on her shoulders and scraping her nails on the scalp with a groan. She had a burdensome amount of hair, her curls were thick and unruly, and she sat by the window brushing them.

She could see the street underneath, a town guard passed with a lantern, people across the street were having late supper, through the curtain on their window she could see candlelight flickering. She looked back and as if for the first time she saw her life in all its simplicity, the way it was displayed in her belongings. A trunk with a scarce garments, books filling it and scattered all over the table, a towel and a few toiletries by the sink, her drawings, quills and pencils on the sill near her. That was her life, simple and unambiguous. And although at times it was empty and lonely, Wren felt that it was safe and invulnerable. She knew who she was, she was Wren of Enedwaith, a healer and a midwife, and at that moment all her future life lay in front of her like a straight and sun lit path in the woods. She were to live and to serve, and either to meet a respectable man, leave her service, have his children, still attend to women in the city, and then die in their marital bed, surrounded by children and grandchildren, or to stay unattached and continue her service till the day the gates to the Halls of Awaiting were to open for her.

Nothing in the bare and cold room in the inn in Bree were to indicate that she bore any sort of extraordinary intendment. And yet, when she climbed under her covers and closed her eyes, she knew for certain there would be heavy doors in front of her and she would be once again offered the choice of entering them and facing the grim Dwarven King.

* * *

_Ra nî lomil tamhari, akhsigabi azâgê... / And if the night is burning, I will cover my eyes…_

* * *

"Oh, Wren!" He was sitting on one of the chair, and the eyes he lifted at her were sparkling with glee. "I was given a harp!" His voice was merry, and he lifted the instrument and showed to her.

She froze in the doors, staring at him in disbelief. He seemed completely content, and his fingers ran on the strings, and then he tenderly stroked the neck of the wooden instrument. His eyes were soft and warm, and she could not gather her wits.

"This time I was given more time here, alone, before you came, and I practiced," he was fiddling with the tuning pins, and then he lifted his face and smiled to her amicably. "I cannot say I would prefer staying here alone for long, but a bit of idle time was a pleasant surprise. How long has it been for you?"

"Just one day," Wren heard her answer come out in a croak. "I have just returned from the dinner with King Bard." The Dwarf in front of her nodded noncommittally and gently plucked the strings again. It was hardly a melody, but there was a harmony in the sounds. "I told him nothing, and he asked how I wanted to proceed, and I said I would need time to decide. I needed to ask you what to do..."

He lifted his face, and his blue eyes were shining brightly. She felt flustered, the surprise and delight on his face were what she indeed was inspiring to see, and then she immediately felt irritated. She had to think it was degrading to her, her attempts to please him so eagerly, and then the corners of his lips twitched, and she felt blush creep on her cheeks. Somehow she was certain he could clearly see all her emotional struggles, and he looked rather amused. She pressed her lips stubbornly.

He patted a chair near him, and she slowly came up to him, half fighting the urge, half longing to sit closer, and once she perched herself on the edge of the chair, he ran his fingers on his harp.

"What options has the bargeman offered you?" The knee block of the harp lay on his shoulder, she saw intricate carving on the pillar and the neck of it, and she could not tear her eyes off his fingers. Though they were thick and his palms wide, the movements were precise and delicate, and she did not know where the urge came. She stretched her hand and touched his right wrist. The hands on the instrument halted. The skin was scorching, she felt the thick black hair under the pulps of her fingers, and she jerked her hand back.

"Forgive me… It was so unseeming…" She was mumbling, clenching her fingers, "I do not know what came over me… but I just needed to make sure..."

"That I was concrete?" His voice was raspy, and then he cleared his throat and chuckled. "That was quite an absurd statement." She looked in his eyes and saw mischievous sparkles dancing in them.

"You feel concrete." She almost added 'no less than King Bard,' but bit her tongue on time.

"You feel cool," it was his turn to stretch his hand, and he picked up her fingers. He wrapped his digits around hers, her hand looked miniscule on his palm, and she conceded. It felt corporeal, more than it should in a dream. And it was pleasant. She bit into her bottom lip. Her stubborn character and sober mind did not allow her deceiving herself, it felt exhilarating. She was still looking at their hands, when he shifted and moved the harp away from him.

"Wren..." Her name fell off his lips again, his voice velvet and low, and she shivered. She gathered her will and met his eyes. "Thank you for your help." She blinked and jerked her hand back.

She wondered if she jumped up and ran through the doors whether she could wake up. She felt such charring, painful shame that she had to bite into her bottom lip again, her whole body was shaking, and she pressed her knees together. She was internally screaming, calling herself the worst of names and scolding herself for stupidity. She shortly wondered if tears were already running down her cheeks, but then she took a deep breath in and clenched her jaws. She told herself she just needed to finish this conversation, and then she would wake up and cry as much as she wanted.

"Gandalf the Grey," she choked out, and King Thorin's eyebrows twitched in surprise, "King Bard offered to write to him, I have not disclosed why I seek knowledge on your death, but he offered to try to reach the wizard. And King Thranduil, I could go to Mirkwood, but I assumed you would not want that..." She was speaking quickly, trying to silence panicked thrashing thoughts. Anything was better that the humiliation that was flooding her mind.

"Perhaps we should wait for an answer from Balin, but writing to the wizard could not harm..." The King's tone was pensive, and she started slowly rising. He looked at her, and his brows hiked up in surprise. "Honorable healer?"

She immediately realized how absurd her behaviour was. It was not as if she was actually visiting him and could find a polite excuse to leave. The dream would end on its own pace, but she just could not seem to calm herself. She got up, he followed, and she rushed to the tapestry on the wall. It was the only object in the room she could pretend to be interested in. She stood in front of it and made herself read the names on it, and then once again, trying to distract herself from the tears burning her eyes and to forget that single short moment when she was dim enough to imagine he wanted to kiss her.


	13. Chapter 13

He stood beside her, his eyes upon the tapestry on the wall, and she looked at him discreetly from the corner of her eye. She had reined her emotions by now, and only a weak fluttering in her chest was still a reminder of the moment of madness she had had.

She allowed herself a few instances of watching him, her eyes as if drinking in the long straight bridge of his nose, surprisingly fluffy lashes, thick and black, and seemingly coarse whiskers above his upper lip, and then she looked down and cleared her throat.

"When I meet Lord Balin, or the wizard, what do you think it is that will have to be accomplished?" She did not finish the thought, a cold feeling clenched around her heart once she was reminded that the purpose of her quest was to allow him to pass away completely.

"I would assume there are some matters that I have not addressed," he slightly turned to her, tilting his head and giving her a soft look. "Perhaps some debt I have not paid… Balin would be able to bring this matter up with the elders, and I am starting to think now that Tharkûn will be a great asset in this endeavour…"

"Tharkûn?"

"The grey wizard, that is his name in our language. As this is no simple matter, it is beyond mundane life, he is to be consulted." Wren nodded solemnly, and then she heard a soft chuckle from him. "Do you have anything else to tell me, honourable healer?" His tone was light, and she looked at him askew. She asked herself whether she was imagining a small smile hiding in the corners of his lips.

"I do not believe so, my lord," she answered feebly, and then no doubt was left in her mind, the corners of his lips indeed twitched. There were impish sparkles dancing in his eyes, and she blushed furiously.

"And yet you are still here."

She noticed the crow's feet in the corners of his piercing blue eyes, and then he leaned in and picked up her hand again. A shiver ran through her body, and it took a lot of effort for her not to jerk her hand away. On one hand, he was affecting her immensely, and as much as she was resisting, she was starting to understand that the unfamiliar feeling in her was nothing other but preposterous, conceited, hopeless yearning. On the other hand, her stubbornness was pushing her to desist these sentimental urges and to pretend she would be able to forget the feeling of his calloused hand against hers. She intended to thwart her ridiculous bathos. He was a Dwarf, a King, and deceased. Surely, either of these reasons should suffice.

And, she reminded herself, he was not touching her hand in actuality, her mind was creating this illusion, instigating these sensations. There was no scorching palm, no strong fingers, and a thumb was not stroking her knuckles.

"Perhaps we are given this time to know each other better, honourable healer," he softly pulled at her hand and led her to the chairs. He was behaving unmannerly, and there was an apology laced in his expression, but she had a sudden revelation. He only knew the moments when she was near, and how empty they were to feel! Anyone in his place would crave a touch, even an otherwise undesirable one, and she squeezed his fingers in a supportive gesture. They sat, and she folded her hands on her lap.

"Tell me of yourself, Wren." He encouraged her with a small wave of his hand, but then his face wavered. "And forgive me..."

"No need for apologies, my lord," she interrupted him, and then shied away. Now it was her turn to behave improperly, it seemed. He opened his mouth to say something, but then he shook his head and smirked slightly.

"I was born in Enedwaith," she started hastily, and he looked in her face attentively. "I went travelling when I was thirteen, and I came to Dale to serve. I am an apprentice under the mentorship of the Chief Healer in the city infirmary."

"Are you married, Wren?" His voice was even and quiet, and she even doubted right for an instant whether she heard him.

"No, I am not." As usual she had little power over her fatuous sense of humour, and she giggled. One of his brows jumped up, and she tried to hide her foolish frolics under a cough. She was unsuccessful.

"Are you imagining how a husband would react to his wife seeing a dead Dwarf in her dreams?" The white teeth gleamed in a warm smile, crinkles ran in the corners of his eyes, and she could not suppress a snort.

"Or to his wife running errands for the said dead Dwarf?" She laughed now, he joined her, she could not help but marvel at his full body laugh. The wide shoulders under the soft tunic shook, and he dropped his head back, eyes squinted, teeth white and even. He then leaned ahead, the curtain of heavy silk waves fluttered, and he threw the threads that fell on his face in an obviously habitual gesture. And then he choked on his low chuckles, and stilled. She quieted too and looked at him in confusion over his sudden change of mood.

"The beads," he explained in a hollow voice, "The lack of braids is..."

"Unfamiliar?" She asked, and he nodded. "You could possibly… braid it." He was silent for a few instants, and then shook off his grim inertia. He met her eyes again and smiled to her teasingly.

"And what of the lack of boots, honourable healer? Do not misunderstand me, I am grateful for the harp, but the lack of shoes is disturbing." He was back to light jesting, and she smiled back to him.

"I am not in any control here, my lord. If I knew whom to appeal to, I would be happy to request a more adequate attire for you."

"Some pipe-weed would be favourable here too," his smile grew wider, and she snorted and then schooled her face in a feighted reproachful expression.

"Do you know what it does to your lungs, my lord? You already probably have miner's lung, you do not want emphysema!" He guffawed, and she grinned to him. "What am I to do with a coughing, ailing Dwarf in my dreams?"

"I am dead, honourable healer," he deadpanned, his eyes brilliant.

"Not at the moment, you are not," she answered without thinking, and then a pause hung in the room.

"Indeed I am not." She shortly wondered whether she imagined his voice to be lower, his eyes roamed her face, and she blushed again. "To think of it, I am having the most idle time of my life. I have no quest to take, no Kingdom to rule, no dragon to slay. I am in a warm comfortable hall, I have a harp and a conversation companion. Pipe-weed is a glaring deficit here, honourable healer." He gave her an impish look.

"Confess, my lord, you would not say 'no' to a barrel of ale either," she theatrically frowned at him.

"I would not," his shoulders started to shake again.

"Still harmful for your health," she drew out.

"Still dead," he gibed back, and they roared with laughter. The frolics rolled and rolled, her side was starting to hurt, and she grasped the edge of the table. She was growing weak from their ridiculous howling, and he grabbed her forearm supporting her. Her palm lay on the soft fabric of his tunic, and somehow it only added to the absurdness of the situation.

"And why are you dressed so scantily, my lord?" She rasped, not being able to catch her breath.

"Why are you asking me?" His voice was no less choked from laughter, "It is your dream. Shame on your, honourable healer!" This caused another bout of frolicking, until she felt she had no strength left in her body. Her abdomen hurt, she could almost feel tears pooling in her eyes from all this laughter, and he was taking shallow sharp breaths in, low rumbling still rolling in his chest. And then she realised he was supporting both her forearms, while her hands was firmly clasped around his.

She lifted her eyes from looking at her fingers digging in his massive forearms, and suddenly he pulled her towards him and to his lips.


	14. Chapter 14

He pulled her to himself, she froze in an awkward pose, on the very edge of the chair, and his lips were pressed to hers. She was so astounded that she kept on staring at him, while he closed his eyes. His lips were soft and warm, the breath fresh, and she wondered whether it would have been, were they to kiss in actuality. It was after all just a dream. Piercing sadness flooded her, and she felt tears roll onto her eyes. His hand was on her nape, and she moved closer, closed her eyes and melted into the kiss. She caught the fresh spicy smell of his skin and prohibited herself from thinking it was nothing but her imagination. Her palm lay on his shoulder, she felt hard scorching muscles under the soft material of the tunic, and when she splayed her other hand on his chest, it heaved in a sharp inhale. She had only kissed one other man in her life, but even she could tell the dead King in her arms was inexperienced. He was a fast learner, though, and then he shifted, picked her up under her arms and pulled her on his lap. It should not have felt so right, but in the ring of his strong arms, in the heat coming from his body, she suddenly saw how flawlessly she fit.

He moved away, his forehead still pressed to hers, and she saw the black lashes flutter, and then the bright blue irises, and he met her eyes. They both were silent, there was nothing to say. And then a small melancholic smile twitched the corners of the King's lips.

"Do you think I am an equivalent of a harp then?" She asked, her voice trembling, and he sat up straighter, his eyes studying her face. "A succour? A small consolation in your aggravation?"

She knew the tears were on her cheeks, and his eyes were wet as well, and then he brushed the running drop off her skin with his thumb, and suddenly smiled to her widely.

"Do not be dim, Wren." It was a new tonality, kindred and almost playful, familiarity of it shocked her, and she stared at him. Something about it felt so natural and mundane, as if said before, as if to someone of the close, and she sobbed and hid her face in his shoulder. His palm started stroking her back, and she was taking deep measured breaths in. There was nothing to say, they both knew how absurd it was and how right it felt.

"Stay like this until..." He trailed away, his voice soft and low, and she nodded, turned her head and pressed her nose into his neck. The strong pulse beating under his skin was rapid, and she closed her eyes, trying to memorise every little sensation. And then it blurred, and faded…

* * *

_Ra adjini tada zasaziliki e... / I'll hope you'll remember me…_

* * *

She slowly opened her eyes and looked at the bleary light of the morning streaming through her window. Grey heavy clouds were covering the sky, and she did not feel like leaving her bed. Her heart ached dully, and she curled in a ball, her arms around her knees. The room around her felt cold and bare, and she pulled the covers over her head.

The dreams did not come for another two weeks, and Wren stubbornly pushed the thoughts of the lonely King at the back of her mind. She felt almost grateful for the design of it, he would not suffer in that empty hall, she had her life, he would only know the moments with her. She studied in the library, when the service did not require her presence in the infirmary, often forgetting her meals and staying until dark. Whatever was known and recorded in the volumes seemed to indicate the King was right. There must have been some unpaid debt on him, something that he had not succeeded to accomplish, and the Elders of the Khazad were to be consulted on the matter. Wren was hoping a letter from King Bard would be an incentive enough for Lord Balin to meet with her. She also let King Bard know that she would like him to send another letter, to the Grey Wizard, seeking his counsel.

Her life seemed to go the habitual way, but felt as if faded, as if that was the dream, and not the desolate hall in her mind, inhabited by a ghost of a King. She was invited to a dance by Thea, and she went. She loved dancing, but the mood did not strike this time. She sat in the corner most of the evening, watching couples twirl on the floor. She had overcome her sentimentality by then, having successfully reminded herself numerous times that there was no use in thinking of the man who was constantly on her mind these days in terms applicable to any other couple she could see around. Hers was not a story of love, tenderness and passion. Hers was a sad hopeless story of a girl with a task. And if she, so it happened, was foolish enough to allow her heart this futile longing, she was to bear it in silence. The ache was subdued and almost numbing. There was nothing to be done.

* * *

And then a letter came. She was invited to Erebor to meet Lord Balin personally, and she spent the evening and the night before the appointed date contemplating what she had to say.

This time she was immediately shown through the inside doors of the visitors parlour, the same captain who had allowed himself those derisive looks last time gave her if not respectful, but at least a polite bow, and she was ushered into a large chamber with settees and chairs, clearly intended for more private negotiations. She did not dare sit and stood her hands locked behind her back in her habitual nervous habit. She was also rocking on the heels of the feet, when another door opened and two Dwarves came in.

She could not decide which one of them impressed her more. The taller one was fierce looking, his bald head was tattooed, his body massive and eyes piercing, and she recognised him as Dwalin, son of Fundin. She recalled the drawings of the Dwarf named Ori in one of the volumes, and then she suddenly pieced together her own memories, and realised that she had met his brother, now standing near him, previously. In her first visit to Erebor, in the hall with the display of weapons and King Thorin's last armour, Balin, son of Fundin was the Dwarf who had supported her, leading her out, jesting and teasing her. She bit into her lip and gave him a shy look. His dark, astute eyes ran her face.

Bows were exchanged, polite greetings ensued, and she was seated on a settee with Lord Balin near her, while his brother stood by the wall, his arms folded on his chest. Wren's trained eyes noticed the knuckles that would never heal now, bones distorted by numerous battle injuries, and the stiffness of the left shoulder. Lord Balin bore no less scars, and she thought of the sincere affection dancing in King Thorin's eyes when mentioning the Dwarf in front of her. She took a deep breath in and gathered her will.

"My lord, what I have to say will sound preposterous, but I am begging you not to haste with your judgment." He gave her a slow nod, the dark irises sparkling, and she fisted her hands. "I have had a... vision, involving King Thorin II Oakenshield." She was starting to shake but nothing changed in the polite expression on her conversation companion's face. "He let me know that he is unable to pass into the Halls of Awaiting as there is some unfinished matter that is to be attended. He asked me to pass this message to you in hopes you would be able to converse to your Elders and assist him." She was silent and still now, her eyes roaming the Dwarf's face, but still he was not responding. She was starting to panic, when she heard the Dwarf by the wall shift. She looked at him and saw the enraged expression on his face. It was almost a relief, anything was better that the decorous interest on the older Dwarf's face.

"Are you mad, lass?" Dwalin, son of Fundin growled through his teeth. Wren felt almost merry, but that was probably hysterics.

"I would surely prefer to think that way, Master Dwarf, but unfortunately I am healthy in my mind. King Thorin asks me to tell you he cannot pass into the Halls of Awaiting." She repeated, lifting her chin and meeting Dwalin's burning eyes.

"She is surely muddled, nadad," Dwalin addressed his brother, and Wren turned to look at Lord Balin. Some indistinguishable emotions were in his eyes, and he slightly tilted his head, giving her a curious look. He reminded her of an owl. The round dark eyes, white feathers of the hair and the forked beard, and the same amount of danger of a predator hidden under a seemingly pleasing exterior. Wren clenched her jaw and waited for his answer.

"What connection do you possess to King Thorin, me lady? Besides lurking in the halls commemorating his valour in battle." So he remembered her.

"None whatsoever, my lord. I was as surprised as you to be appointed his messenger but here I am."

"And what of King Bard? He personally recommended us to meet you in his letters." She guessed they suspected some treachery from Men. That would be unsurprising, they were Dwarves after all.

"None whatsoever again, my lord," she answered defiantly. "I asked him to contact you as I was refused your audience previously."

"You have been refused upon my decision, me lady," Balin's voice was still even and friendly, and Wren was painfully reminded that they were Khazad, they had different ways. She had no chance in these negotiations. "I have received your letter but it seemed rather unconvincing. I apologise," he gave her a polite nod, which felt like a slap. She understood that she would be asked to leave any instant now, and she felt humiliated blush spill on her cheeks. Even her ears were burning now, and she was ready to jump on her feet. But then the memories came, of the soft look in his blue eyes, and she suddenly remembered that the man in her dreams had no one other to trust his destiny to. Wren narrowed her eyes and squared her shoulders.

"King Thorin has warned me that you might be uthak fundu at the beginning," _as useless as Elf miners, _she could clearly envision his soft lips wrap around the phrase, the consonants roll in his throat, and she hoped her pronunciation was convincing. Judging by the jerk of Lord Balin's body and the twitch of his lips, and the movement of his brother by the wall that she could not see but felt, Wren was as usual rather good at languages. "On the other hand, he assured me you would come around."

There was a pause, and Wren waited. She had nothing to lose, and as much as she wanted to deny it, she was fighting for the sake of the man whom her heart was slowly giving itself to. She had nothing to lose, and everything to fight for.

"He was always fond of this expression," Lord Balin's voice was quiet, and Wren realised she won at least in this round.

* * *

**A/N: My darlings, I apologise for the long wait for this update, as well as some of my other fics. I'm experiencing some personal grievances, and _Faire and Square_ was all I wanted to write as it is light and worked as a perfect distraction. I will now get back to the Hogwarts story and _convince me the winter is over_. Thank you for sticking around and for all the encouraging reviews!**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Just the reminder that I tend to mix the book and the film canon. I have been disappointed in the third film, mildly speaking, so I am not following some of PJ's changes made to the original.**

* * *

"Surely you do not believe her, brother," Dwalin walked around the settee and stood in front of Wren. She lifted her eyes and met the burning glare of Dwalin, son of Fundin, loyal warrior, King Thorin's lieutenant. For him, she thought, the King had been dead for two years, she still remembered the taste of his lips. "Clearly she is out of her mind. A scrap of a girl from Men, why would Thorin?!.." His brother lifted his hand in a warning gesture, and Wren shifted her eyes on the older Dwarf.

"As you can see, it is hard for us to believe you, honourable healer. Or would have been, if such affairs had been unheard of." Dwalin froze with his mouth half open and then his head whipped to look at his brother.

"Surely you do not mean..." Dwalin growled, and Wren interrupted him.

"Are you referring to the legend that states that the spirit of each of the Fathers of Dwarves should, at the end of the long span of life allotted to Dwarves, fall asleep, but then lie in a tomb of his own body, at rest, and there its weariness and any hurts that had befallen it should be amended?" Wren asked, and received a small smile from Lord Balin.

"And then after long years he should arise and take up his kingship again, aye," he nodded, and Wren shook her head.

"Forgive me, my lord, but I doubt that the legend meant it to happen to a simple King, other than one of the Seven Fathers, and indeed not after a couple of years..." She bit her tongue. She was supposed to convince them to listen to her and to take her words seriously, and now she was disproving their theory that could have earned her their trust, but it just did not deem right to her. She peeked and with surprise saw approval dancing in the mischievous eyes of Lord Balin.

"A simple King?" He tilted his large head, and it seemed that an almost smile was twitching the corner of the Dwarf's lips. "How would King Thorin react if he heard you calling him that?"

"He has heard worse from me, I was not very pleased to find him roaring in my head," she blurted out, and a pause hung in the room.

"Oh be done with this nonsense!" The massive arms of Dwalin flew up in exasperation, and he pointed at her with his spade like hand, "Why are you listening to her, brother?"

"Because Thorin would want us to. And we have to be loyal to him. The reward for loyalty is a place in the Hall of Awaiting, brother," Balin had slightly turned, and his eyes were on his brother's face, and he could not see Wren's body jerk. Before he had finished the phrase, she already knew how it ended.

"Radm khama amnas yud ni Itdendum," she whispered, and they both turned sharply and looked at her. She smiled widely, "It all makes sense now. I could not understand why I was not given any means to convince you, but I was!" She even laughed slightly, and suddenly she grabbed Balin's hands. "My lord, he comes to my dreams. He asks after his sister-sons, and I have nothing to tell him. He asked about the Arkenstone, and I had no answer for him. He played harp for me… He needs you to let me speak to the Elders. There is a debt on him, and he needs to pay it. He fought with honour, and he deserves his peace. Give it to him. It is in your power to let him rest." She did not notice when tears started running down her cheeks, but her voice was firm. "He earned his place in the Halls of Mandos. Help me to help him."

She did not know how the confidence arose, and where the words came from, but she was smiling to Balin through tears, and he pulled one hand out of hers and covered her knuckles.

"Aye, lass, I will," was his answer, and she did not need any other. His brother dropped his arms and made a scornful snort like sound, but Wren gave him a smile as well. She did not fail her King.

* * *

She was given food, and a courtier was sent to the Elders. She ate, and Lord Balin was keeping her company. She could hardly swallow a piece, but she knew that she would offend their hospitality had she refused.

She took a small sip of ale and started coughing loudly. She could never stomach much brew, and Lord Balin gently patted her back. He was sipping wine from his goblet, his armchair across a small table from hers.

"What did you see in your dreams, fair maiden?" His tone was nonchalant, but the lightness of his question did not deceive her.

"The hall where you met me for the first time, my lord, but in my dreams it is empty, just a large table and chairs." She fidgeted with a slice of cheese in her fingers.

"Aye, it was supposed to be a council hall, the armour and the weapons were placed there after the burial," the Dwarf's voice was soft and melancholic. They sat in silence for a while.

"The King told me there was nothing after the moment he had charged out of the mountain in his memory. He did not remember the death of his sister-sons, but there is a tapestry on the wall of that hall in my dream. The dates are there..." Lord Balin nodded mournfully.

"Kili and Fili… They fell in the last fight, they had fought by his side. Their bodies were found on the battlefield after the fight had ebbed."

"And him?"

"Beorn the Skinchanger carried his dying body out of it." Wren had read and heard of the Skinchanger, he was now the Great Chief in the Vales of Anduin, his Woodmen were on guard of the lands to the North of Dale. "He spoke to us before… before he joined Mahal's guard." Wren had always considered the Dwarven euphemism for dying rather poetic. They were so fond of fighting that hoped it would continue even after their demise.

"I have read of the burial. Of the sword and the Arkenstone placed on his chest. I believe some of the guards of King Bard spoke, he would not discuss it himself." Balin gave her a slightly sarcastic look, Wren did not expect any fondness for the King of Men from the Dwarf. "Is Erebor at peace now, my lord? Is it prosperous?" It was a rather rude question to ask a Dwarf of his home, and especially when asked by a woman of Men, and she hastily added, "He will ask me when I see him." The Dwarf's dark eyes were fixed on her face, and she could not quite understand the expression on his face.

"You truly do believe you see him, my lady." Balin's voice was laced with amused disbelief, and Wren felt almost merry.

"He is rather hard to ignore, my lord. He tends to lose his temper quickly if I do not listen or do as he says. Have you ever tried not believing in the existence of a war horn blowing into your ear?" Balin shook his head at her antics, and she quickly busied herself with another slice of cheese.

"As much as I want to believe you, honourable healer, I find a certain flaw in your story," there was new softness to Balin's voice, and Wren lifted her eyes at him. "There is no debt on King Thorin. After I received your letter I had given it a lot of thought. He fought bravely, he was the true King to his people in those hours, he made peace with his friends, he had forgiven those who he thought had wronged him, and he was forgiven in return. He left an heir of Durin on his throne, Erebor is being rebuilt, and life went on." Lord Balin folded his hands on the table in front of him. "Mirkwood, Dale, Esgaroth, Erebor, the Beornings… There is trade, barges run the River, King Thranduil and King Bard are in friendly relationships, and King Dain rules Erebor… He is a true son of Durin's folk, he lacks the worldliness of King Thorin, but he will bring the Kingdom to prosperity."

Wren listened holding her breath. She felt she could now read between the lines guessing the hidden meaning of the words of careful sectarian Dwarves, and she could see what Lord Balin spoke of. The life went on, making King Thorin nothing but a memory of turbulent days, and heroic past, and a dragon, and the battle. These days Erebor was just another Dwarven Kingdom, its inhabitants bigoted and narrow-minded, the true meaning of the Quest of Erebor living in the memory of ten Dwarves.

And then she remembered. It was not just ten Dwarves. There was a wizard and a hobbit.

"I have written a letter to Gandalf the Grey as well, my lord. I want to seek his counsel, and King Thorin supported me in this idea."

"Aye, that might be wise." Balin nodded and then gave her a look askew, she thought she saw a gleam of mischievous light in his black eyes. "Although I would refrain speaking of King Thorin as if you two have just had a discussion of plans over tea." Wren bit into her bottom lip bashfully. The memories of last night were still fresh in her mind, and the events of her last dream only contributed into her embarrassment.

At that moment a courtier returned to show them to the halls to speak to the Elders. Wren rose, feeling anxious but determined. Unlike Lord Balin, she knew that whatever the explanation there was an undead King in her dreams, and one way or another she needed to help him.


	16. Chapter 16

Wren stopped before tall, heavy doors into an inner hall, her hands fisted, and her heart clenching painfully. She knew the Dwarves of Erebor chose twelve heads of the oldest families as their Elders. The tradition was even preserved while in the exile. Wren knew not whom she would find behind the doors.

"Shall we, my lady?" Balin's warm voice behind her sounded encouraging, and she looked at him over her shoulder. "I suggest you appeal to Master Frar, son of Hori. He would be the fattest one. He has the kindest heart."

Wren had no time to thank the Dwarf for the advice, as the doors opened, and she entered a large hall. The ceiling was tall, and although there was a firepit burning by the furthest wall, cold immediately washed over Wren's body. There were shelves and shelves of scrolls along each of the walls, and a large round table in the middle. Four old Dwarves were sitting around it. Wren also saw two more figures on a bench near the firepit, but they were lit up from their backs, and she could not see the faces. One of them was a Dwarven woman.

"Come in, child," the oldest of the Dwarves at the table spoke, his voice brittle and weak. He also was probably blind, cataracts turning his irises white as milk. Wren made a few steps inside and stopped before the table.

"Lord Balin sent us a note explaining your matter, my lady," the one who spoke now was, as Wren assume, Frar, son of Hori. He indeed had the largest stomach of them all, and Wren met his pale blue eyes. "He had also told us of your letter few weeks ago. Welcome to Erebor, the Dwarven Kingdom Under the Mountain, honourable healer of Dale."

The fact that all of them remained seated and that she was just pointed at the fact that she was no Dwarf in a Dwarven kingdom told her there was a laborious task before her. Wren pressed her lips in distress.

No man was worth this humiliation, she thought, but her heart fluttered. Perhaps, some were, whispered the heart. Man or not, she had a task to fulfill, her destiny chosen for her, her mind added, and Wren narrowed her eyes and took a decisive step ahead. She firmly gripped the back of the chair nearest to her and dragged it away from the table. The legs made a loud screeching noise ont the stone floor, it was heavy almost beyond her physical strength, and then she added a bang when she stood it in front of the table. Then she sat on it and jerked her chin up.

"I came to speak on the behalf of the King Thorin II, Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain," her voice was trembling, and her nails dug into her palms.

"Dain Ironfoot, son of Nain, son of Gror, is the King Under the Mountain," another of the four spoke, and Wren turned to him.

She was getting angry, and she was welcoming the rage. Rage had always helped her grow more calculative, her mind would sharpen and she could reign her emotions much better. In other times she would be too compassionate and empathic. Humiliated, she was shrewd and merciless.

"And King Thorin is dead," she answered looking directly in the eyes of the narrow faced Dwarf who spoke before. Her voice was sharp and unpleasant, and several Dwarves shifted in the room. "And yet I am here to speak on his behalf."

Dwarves were a cunning race, with their own customs and their own set ways, and Wren knew she could hardly outsmart and persuade the oldest of them. All she had was her confidence and the sharpness of her tongue. Before any of them opened their mouths again, she circled the room with her eyes and spoke again, hoping to shock them into submission.

"King Thorin is unable to pass into the Halls of Mandos. He sent me to seek your assistance. He needs you to settle his unattended matters and let him find peace."

The hall was silent for a few seconds, and then she saw the fingers of the blind Elder to move in an intricate pattern. Wren knew it was iglishmek, the silent language of the Khazad. If Khuzdul was hard but not impossible to learn, iglishmek was kept secret even from some of the younger Dwarves. The Elders exchanged looks, and she saw the fingers of the other three move as well.

"What proof do you have of your words, my lady?" The previously silent Elder addressed her. He was white haired and white bearded as all of them, his face wrinkled and dark, he reminded her of wind weathered tree stumps in the woods around her childhood home, but also something in his features seemed familiar to her. She searched her memory, she never forgot a face, and matching the drawings of the Dwarf named Ori in her memory with what she saw in front of her, she smiled to him.

"I have none, Groin, son of Frarin. Except I am not lying."

"Why you?" A soft female voice came from behind her, and Wren turned around. Dis, daughter of Thrain, met her eyes. Hers were blue, like her brother's, under the black brows of the same shape, but her hair was snow white. From the grief, and not from age, Wren understood, and acute sympathy flooded her. A heavy crown lay on the hair of the Dwarven lady now standing closer to Wren, who had not heard the woman get up and move. Lady Dis was dressed in a stern heavy black dress, black veil on her braids, her arms crossed on her chest. Gesture looked more defensive than stubborn.

"I do not know, Lady Dis. I have asked it myself many times." Lady Dis' eyes ran over her, brows frowned and lips in a distressed, slightly derisive line.

"You are nothing special..." She spoke almost to herself, and Wren noticed from the corner of her eye the Elders stir. None of them would allow themselves such rudeness, such direct words, but Wren thought bitterly that of course they all thought so. Truth to be told, she herself shared their sentiment.

"He did not tell me. He just comes..." Wren took a shuddered breath in and mentally asked the woman in front of her for forgiveness for her next words, "He asked after his sister-sons. I had nothing to tell him."

Dis grew pale, her thinned wan face became almost a mask, and she looked at the Elders at the table.

"Jezeru harân himir." The unfamiliar words in Khuzdul were venomous and sneered through teeth. Wren assumed they were hardly in her support.

"King Bard has vouched for her," the Dwarf sitting by the firepit got up and walked to the table. Ori's drawings once again supplied Wren with the name. Oin, son of Groin, met his father's eyes. "We cannot disregard the word of our neighbour and ally. She is to be listened to."

"And we have listened to her," the first Elder spoke quietly, "Does she have anything else to add? We will look into her inquiry but an additional knowledge would be beneficial." Once again the words were full of insulting ambiguity, and Wren shook her head. She had nothing to add.

"Very well, then," the narrow face Elder who seemed least favourable towards Wren's cause gave her a wry polite nod, "We thank you for your trouble, my lady." At least he did not point at the door.

Wren imagined jumping on her feet and running through the doors, and then out of the Mountain, and perhaps even further, but she forced herself to sit.

"And I thank you for your attention and consideration, my lords. I assure you I shall pursue this affair further on, I will not leave your King in the troublesome situation he is in," she paused letting her words sink, counting the painful beats of her heart in her throat, "And if my lords approve of such measures, I will also seek the advice of the Istari counsel," Wren was bluffing but since they were taking her for a deceiving daughter of Men, she might as well threaten them, "Or perhaps King Thranduil. After all he knew King Thorin personally, perhaps his advice would be wise on the matter." One of the Elders opened his mouth, but Wren got up, pushing the chair back, once again loudly, and she gave them a small, unimpressive bow. "I will be waiting for your letter, my lords. Lord Balin has my address." Before they could answer she turned around and stomped out of the room.

* * *

Balin and Oin followed her through the passages, but kept distance behind her, and she was grateful for a moment of solitude. And then she heard hasty steps behind her on the stone floor of a tunnel she was striding through. She stopped and turned around knowing whom she would see behind her.

Lady Dis' eyes were roaming Wren's face and figure, and the latter took a deep breath in. The Dwarven dame kept silent. Wren suddenly felt almost merry.

"I have to say this visit went better than I expected. At least I was not thrown out right away." The two women looked at each other, and suddenly the King's sister swayed, even more blood rushing from her face, and Wren stepped and grabbed her shoulder.

Oin stepped closer, mumbling something in Khuzdul, but Lady Dis lifted her hand halting him and heavily leaned onto the wall. Wren's hands were still on her upper arms, and Dis wrapped her large hands around Wren wrists and pulled her closer.

"Tell me the truth. Have mercy..." Her voice was shaking, and Wren gasped. "Do you see him or not?"

"Yes, yes, I do," Wren felt tears stinging her eyes. "Many times now. And will probably see him again."

"And my boys?.. Do you see them too?.." There was so much hope in the Dwarven woman's voice that Wren who singularly valued honesty among other highest virtues felt like lying for the first time in her life, but then she mournfully shook her head and caught Lady Dis' hands. They were hot and clammy, and Wren let her tears spill.

"I do not. I regret, my lady, and I mourn with you." The Dwarven dame inhaled sharply, and gathering her will she stepped back from Wren. She was shaking, but her face was now calm, and Wren turned to Balin allowing the King's sister her dignity.

"I thank you for your help, my lord." Wren gave the white haired Dwarf a low bow. "And you too, my lord," she bowed to Oin as well, "I appreciated your effort. All I can do now is to await the Elders' decision."

"It is a serious matter, my lady," Oin spoke in a calm voice, "It needs a lot of pondering and discussing." Wren twisted her lips in sarcastic grimace. She understood she was cautioned from expecting any answer soon. But just as she said to Lady Dis, at least she had been listened to.

"Have you written to Tharkun?" Lady Dis had reigned her emotions and now stood in front of Wren, her shoulders squared, head set high.

"Gandalf the Grey? Yes, I have. He is in Ithilien these days, I am hoping to receive his answer next moon." Lady Dis nodded, and then she looped her arm inviting Wren to take it.

"We shall talk in my study now. Do you mind if Lord Balin and Oin join us?" Wren looked at the woman in front of her in admiration. Not only the order was masked under the form of a question, it was also to give Wren an illusion of power over the situation. Female Dwarves, Wren understood, were much better diplomats than their men, and more dangerous for that matter. She nodded and looped her arm through Lady Dis'. Perhaps, this conversation would be more fruitful.


	17. Chapter 17

The study of Dis, daughter of Thrain was a small room, neat and organised, but somehow Wren felt these days it was rarely used. It was kept pristine clean, but most likely by the help, quills and ink bottles were intact, and books on the shelves untouched. Wren sat in a chair near the desk, across from the mistress of the place, and the two old Dwarves took the bench by the wall, to the left from the women.

Lady Dis sat down and looked at her hands on the table. They were pale, the skin looked like parchment, and Wren's professional part of mind deduced that the Dwarven dame had lost a lot of weight in the last two years, she did not eat regularly, and overall showed signs of physical and emotional exhaustion. Even knowing Dwarven resilience, Wren was hardly surprised. The woman in front of her had lost all her kin to the war.

"Tell me of your dreams, my lady," Lady Dis spoke quietly, her eyes now on Wren's face.

"Please, call me Wren, or honourable healer, I am no lady," Wren asked and received a short nod from the other woman. "They started the night before my first visit to Erebor. I came with a company of merchants and got lost in your halls. Lord Balin found me by accident in the room..." Wren looked at the Dwarf for help.

"The Observance Hall," Balin spoke softly, and then repeated his words for Oin a bit louder.

"Since then I have seen King Thorin several times. He comes, but I see no rhyme or reason to these dreams. He has no answers, and neither do I. I honestly have nothing more to add. I have no right, and just like you said, I am nothing special…" Lady Dis studied her face.

"And yet you have managed to ensure the support of King Bard, received an audience with the Elders of Erebor, and even, I dare say, made an impression," there was an almost smile in the corners of Lady Dis' lips, and Wren shifted on her chair uncomfortably.

"I had little hope to convince them, so I chose the approach of appalling boldness. Although much good it did…" Wren chewed on her bottom lip in distress.

"It did, worry not, honourable healer," Lady Dis twirled a letter opener in her fingers, "It might seem to you that you have not achieved much today, but they have heard you. It will take time but the matter will be addressed. I am certain they will look into the burial ceremony and the treaties with King Bard and King Thranduil again. Those that were signed by King… Thorin himself, before his passing," her voice broke around her brother's name, but she quickly gathered her bearing.

"Do you think they will find the answer?"

"No," the Dwarven dame's answer was decisive, and Wren felt taken aback by it. She was just starting to feel hopeful she had made some fruitful steps. "Because they will be looking in the wrong place."

"Aye, they will be," added Lord Balin in a hollow voice, and Wren whipped her head and looked at him in astoundment. "You see, honourable healer, I think we all can agree King Thorin has done justly and honourably by his people and his allies." The old Dwarf gave Wren a small sad smile. "Like I already told you, honourable healer. There is no debt on the Dwarven King."

"Then why?.." Wren was at loss of words. She had hoped her quest was arriving to its conclusion, as much as her heart ached at the thought, which she was industriously ignoring, but now it seemed she was only at the very beginning of her path.

"There is no debt on the King, but perhaps there is a debt on the man," Balin's voice was soft and full of meaning, and Wren looked at the woman in front of her in confusion. Lady Dis nodded mournfully.

"The Halfling perhaps..." Oin, son of Groin spoke for the first time.

"Or me..." Lady Dis offered darkly, and the rest of people in the room looked at her. "Perhaps it is the debt of blood. My sons' blood." Distraught silence rang in the room, and then Balin spoke gently.

"That is a debt no one can repay, uzbadnâtha." The moniker was unfamiliar, but Wren assumed it carried respect and affection. Lady Dis pressed her lips in a stern line.

"Even so, it does not the answer why the honourable healer," Oin calmly returned everyone's attention to the question. "With all due respect, the choice of the messenger is rather odd."

"As I said before, I do not understand it, and neither does the King." Wren reminded herself of Lord Balin's advice to not talk about Thorin Oakenshield as if she had just had tea with him. "There is no association between myself and... Erebor. Before that very first day here I had met very few of the Khazad, and knew very little about your ancient culture. I have no answer," she respectfully nodded to Lady Dis.

"Gandalf will know," Lord Balin spoke, and Wren turned to him grateful for the change of subject. "All we can do is wait for his answer. And, honourable healer," his eyes suddenly gleamed with mischief, "I would refrain from reaching out to King Thranduil so far." Wren pressed her lips to hide a bashful smile.

"I have to say it was my temper talking. I would never dare… Unless there was no one else to turn to..."

"Do turn to us when in need," the Princess spoke, bitter lines still lying in the corners of her mouth. "I think there could be several others who will believe you like we do, and we will seek their support, but for now remember, we are always at your service." The words were simple and grave, and Wren wriggled her fingers not knowing how to express her ardent gratitude.

"I thank you, my lady, and my lords," she gave a fervent look to all three Dwarves, "I shall remember your kindness. As soon as a letter from the Grey Wizard arrives I will write to you."

Everyone rose, there were hasty and awkward goodbyes, Wren could not wait to leave but was afraid to offend her host, and finally she stepped out of the Erebor Gates. It was already dark, and she hurriedly started walking towards the City of Dale.

The weather was brisk, and Wren's sensitive nose caught that faint fresh smell in the air that often precedes snow. It was November already, and she pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders.

In her room she pulled the pins out of her strict demure do and let the hair scatter on her shoulders, rubbing the tired scalp. She folded her only good velvet dress on the chair, she did not dare to wear the winegirls' gift to Erebor and to be honest doubted she would ever be as bold as to wear it again, and then she crawled under her thin blanket. She was slender and always cold but could not afford better covers. There was a woodstove in her room, and she started counting how much silver she had managed to save and whether she could afford to already start burning the wood she had paid for, or whether she would not last till spring if she did, and lost in these small practical thoughts she drifted into sleep.

* * *

_Ra nî lomil tamhari, akhsigabi azâgê... / And if the night is burning, I will cover my eyes..._

* * *

Wren pushed the doors and stepped in. She was met by the same dim light in the hall, same candles burning in the chandeliers on the walls, but the room seemed empty this time. Wren looked around in bewilderment, and then a hand lay on her shoulder from behind. She squeaked and jumped away.

"Maiar help me, you scared me," she was panting, and King Thorin gave her an apologetic smile.

"Forgive me, Wren, I was only trying that door," he pointed at the door in the opposite wall. Wren remembered it from the time she visited this hall in Erebor.

"And what is behind it?" She asked with interest.

"For me, nothing," surprisingly he did not seem upset with it. "If I walk through it, I end up here again, just passing through the doors you enter usually." She looked behind her now.

"Are there any more doors here?"

"No, just these two, and it is apparently just a loop, at least for me," he was still speaking, when their eyes finally met. Painful blush immediately spilled on her cheeks, the memories of the circumstances of her previous visit flooding her mind.

He was silent now, looking at her, and she could not believe but the expression in his eyes seemed almost tender. The corners of his lips were slightly curved, she had already realised that his expressions tended to be moderate, while his eyes could tell so much. Warmth and curiosity splashed in them now, and she felt like hiding from his astute gaze.

"Good evening, my King," she tended to fall back on decour when uneasy, and he slightly tilted his head to the right and gave her an amused look.

"Good evening, honourable healer," she heard amicable teasing in the respectful moniker, and feeling even more agitated she rushed to the table and quickly sat in one of the chairs.

"I have been to Erebor, I spoke to the Elders. And I met your sister," she knew that about herself. When nervous she tended to speak out of terms, blurting out her thoughts without taking proper time to choose her words. He sat in front of her and nodded, encouraging her to speak. She wriggled her fingers, and trying to avoid his eyes she delegated the events of the day to him.

While she spoke, she once again discreetly studied him. He looked the same as she saw him before, in a simple dark blue tunic and trousers, barefoot, unbraided hair, clean skin and nails. After her visit to Erebor she understood even better how unusual his appearance was.

She had almost finished her account, when he suddenly asked her, interrupting her while she took a small breath in between two sentences, "Are my looks not to your liking, honourable healer? You seem to be giving me constant scrutinizing looks."

Wren froze with her mouth half open, words stuck in her throat, and her cheekbones burning excruciatingly. There was laughter rolling in his voice, and one of the brows crawled up. Wren felt mortified, she was embarrassed beyond measure, and scolded herself. She should have known he was too shrewd to not notice her ridiculous gawking. She felt a dire desire to hide from him, but there was nowhere to run.


	18. Chapter 18

"I apologise, my lord, I was just..." Wren frantically searched her mind for the right words to explain herself, "I am once again stricken by the differences in your appearance and that of your kin. The attire, the braids..." He pushed his fingers into the hair, the ebony silky strands ran between them, and he nodded.

"As you perhaps know, the braids and beads on them are signs of status and title, my lady. And it is quite obvious I do not possess any these days," he spoke surprisingly calmly, "I am nothing but a spirit, but here, in this hall so are you, honourable healer. Thus, your clobber, I assume," he nodded pointing at her attire. She looked and only just noticed the healer's robe on herself. There it was, fern green, floor length tunic, narrow sleeves, the apron frock over it, two halves of coarse grey fabric, lacing on her sides, a simple leather belt around her waist. She touched the hem, familiar material under her fingers. They sat in silence for a few instants, and then he spoke again, "You have achieved impressive successes, honourable healer, I am grateful. Dis is right, the Council is not haste in its actions, but they will listen. They were disagreeable to have dealings with when I lived, these days it is even more of an aggravation." He gave out a joyless chuckle, and all she could do was to nod.

"I had a little bit more time here alone this time, honourable healer," he spoke softly, and she lifted her eyes at him. There was a small smile in the corners of his kiss. "About half an hour perhaps, before you came..."

She did not know what to make of it. She had thought he was only here when she would dream of him, but with each day it was becoming more and more obvious he was not just in her mind. She had also noticed that her dreams were becoming clearer, more pronounced, the hall they were in seemed to be lit more brightly. She felt an urge to touch him, to see if he had become even more tangible, but she did not dare.

"If you have nothing else to tell me, there is a trial I would like to execute, honourable healer. I have a suspicion regarding the arrangement we have here..." She did not allow herself to admit that her hearts fluttered at these words. She scolded herself, it was so foolish to feel titillated, he was surely not offering any physical contact between them. Her mind whirled, never previously had she craved a touch of a man. He, on the other hand, appeared astonishingly enticing to her.

"What is it, my lord?" Her even, nonchalant tone surely deserved the highest of praise, she even managed to keep her face schooled into a polite expression.

"Would you mind trying to leave, honorable healer?" He seemed almost excited by his proposition, and her heart clenched.

"Pardon?" He got up and walked to the door through which she would enter every time. Brushing his fingers to it, he gave it a studying look.

"I want to know what happens if you open this door and leave through it," he seemed absorbed in his thoughts, as if almost forgetting she was in the same hall. "I have a suspicion you would just wake up, but I need to know...There is so little here, I need to know..."

Wren once again censured her mawkishness. Whatever her foolish hopes were, she forgot that he was trapped in this hall. If she understood his temper right, and she suspected she did, he was the last person to enjoy lack of any control over his life and the emptiness and idleness of his current condition. She jumped on her feet and rushed to him.

"Of course, my lord… We should investigate." She stood near him, and her eyes ran the door. There were carvings on it, severe Dwarven warrior in battle armour, lined up in an assault formation, and runes were carved on the top of the bas-relief. "What does it say, my lord?" He looked at her from the corner of his eye.

"It changes every time, honourable healer." She whipped her head and stared at him.

"And you have not thought it important enough to mention it to me?" As soon as the impudent words fell of her lips, she blushed and shifted her eyes. He chuckled warmly, and she peeked. He was tilting his head giving her a warm amused look.

"At the beginning the sayings on honour and valour were decorating this door, honourable healer. Today it says 'Hikhthuzul adrân duhû khama akrâgugkukh.'" She felt a lump in her throat from the rumbling words of his native tongue beautifully enveloped in his deep voice.

"And what does it mean?" She whispered, perhaps out of reverence, perhaps because she was alone with him, and suddenly he gave her a wide sunny smile.

"_Always have time for manners._" Her eyebrows jumped up, and if he were someone else she would assume he was teasing her. She was giving him a disbelieving look, when he took a step back and gave her a low respectful bow. "So I thank you, honourable healer, for your succour and your patience." She could not find any words in her and responded with a bow as well. "And if this indeed awakes you, I hope you have a good day," there were mischievous sparks dancing in his eyes, and as if under a spell she stepped through the door he opened for her.

* * *

_Ra adjini tada zasaziliki e... / I'll hope you'll remember me…_

* * *

Wren opened her eyes, her heart beating frantically. The King in her dreams was right, that door was her escape route from the room he had no way to exit. She hoped he was not left behind. If he had more time before their last encounter, perhaps he was now alone in that hall.

Another week passed, no news came from Erebor, but Wren hardly hoped for such haste response. She continued with her work in the infirmary and in the library, sometimes bringing books home, and often falling asleep at her desk, her head on the open pages of old volumes.

She was rushing around the infirmary, a few men were brought in after a drunk altercation in one of the city inn, when one of the attendants gave her a note brought by a royal courier. Wren was asked to attend an audience with King Bard on the Tuesday to come, and she folded the note and hid it in the pocket of her apron. Her hands grew clammy, apprehension locked around her heart.

She spent two days worrying, and on Tuesday she found herself once again in the visitors parlour of the King's house. This time several other visitors were sitting on benches, and Wren took a spot in the corner. Two hours passed, one by one people were invited to come, instead of Bain some other young man was tending to the visitors. Finally, Wren's turn came, and she came into the King's study. He was sitting at the table, hastily writing something in a large volume in front of him. He started pronouncing his greeting, when he lifted his eyes and saw her. His eyes widened, and he jumped on his feet.

"Honourable healer, I did not know it was you. You did not have to wait, you should have let me know immediately that you were here." He spoke hurriedly, his face emotional, and then he shied away from his own words.

Wren's mind worked fast. She could acknowledge the King's unfortunate slip of tongue, his strange forwardness, or she could hide behind her usual decour. They stood in front of each other for a few instants, she saw muscles dance on his jaw. He was obviously embarrassed, but quickly gathered his bearing and awkwardly pointed at the chair in front of him.

"Please, do sit down." She gave him a polite nod and took the seat. He was twirling a letter opened in his hands, probably still discomforted by his own unrestrained words, and she took pity of him and spoke first.

"You asked me to come and see you, my lord. Are there any news from Gandalf the Grey?" A small sigh of relief he emitted did not escape Wren's attention.

"Aye, it came five days ago. A raven brought it. I was surprised to see it, I thought they only lived in Erebor." The King opened a drawer of his desk and passed to her a small parchment, rolled and tied with what seemed to be a piece of cloth torn from a robe. Wren looked at the slightly grimy paper. The premonition she felt upon receiving the invitation from the King strengthened, encrusting her heart into a cage of ice. Wren had learnt by now to trust her intuition, and her hands trembled. Something momentous awaited her in this letter, and she felt suddenly terrified. The bright hazel eyes of the King of Dale studied her face, she met his gaze and chewed on her bottom lip.

Somehow at that moment she was painfully reminded that she was alone in this world, and had no friends or kin to rely on. To think of it, she did not even have a friend to open a letter in the presence of. And as if answering her unspoken thoughts, the King rose and softly walked around the desk. He moved another chair and sat near her.

"Wren, what is it that is transpiring? Are you forced into something that…?" His voice trailed away, she pressed her lips, she had no answer for him, although she could see he was concerned for her. She could not see the reason, but the flicker of warmth he was showing her was aggravating her sudden trepidation. And then large warm hands of King of Dale closed around both of hers, the letter from the Grey Wizard clenched in them. She felt the calloused rough palms on her ever so cold hands, and she swallowed the lump in her throat.

"Wren, do confide in me. Let me help..." His voice was low and distressed, and she met his eyes again. She saw sincere care expressed in his features, burning in his irises. She watched masculine, well defined lips press in distress, his thick brows frowned, and he enveloped her fingers even more tightly between his hands.

And yet she could not. Loyalty to her King fought in her heart with the loyalty to the man in her dreams, and with shame she knew where her allegiance lay.

"I cannot… Forgive me..." She dropped her eyes at their hands and heard a heavy exhale from the King of Men. She expected him to push her hands away, but he gently stroked her skin with his thumb, and there was genuine sympathy in his tone.

"Would you like to stay here while you are reading the letter?" She did not dare looking at him and nodded.

He released her hands, he was still sitting close, and she felt it brought some relief. She untied the shred of fabric around the letter and unrolled it. Her eyes quickly ran the lines written obviously in a rush, in an uneven, slightly sloppy handwriting, with prints of dirty fingers peppering the parchment.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: ****My darling readers****, old and new, THANK YOU so much! For reading, following, favourite-ing, reviewing… You are so lovely! You make it all worthwhile! Love you all ardently!**

**Here is a super quick update for you since you show so much support to me! Love, love you all!**

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**A/N#2: Dear ****GuestReaderA.****, I quite enjoy when people ask for more chapters and quick :D Just like you said, it shows people are enjoying the story, and it is what it is all about, right? For all of us to go on a journey together and have fun (um, well, that is when we do not bawl in front of a computer screen at three o'clock at night :P)**

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**A/N#3: ****Just a small note****: this is me reassuring you, my duckies, and reminding you to TRUST me. All will be well. Well, maybe not all… And not that well… :P OK, at this stage I promise you a non-tragic ending. How's that? ;)**

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_Honourable healer Wren of Enedwaith!_

_Your letter has reached me at the most unfortunate of time. I am in Ithilien, travelling with a group of Rangers searching for the evil that I believe resides in our world. _

_I have very little time and ask your forgiveness for the abruptness of my answer._

_Know this, honourable healer, I believe you. There are many things in this world that are possible, and even more that Thorin Oakenshield could achieve. If he indeed found a way to reach us, I accept it fully._

_Sadly I cannot currently assist you. I ask you to seek counsel from Lord Elrond in Rivendell. He is wise and will be able to help you. _

_I could not ask you to travel to Ithilien, the journey would be dangerous and long, much could change in the course of it, but if you find yourself in Ithilien, do seek out Captain Amrod, son of Mablung. He is an honourable man and can be trusted under any circumstances._

_Please, send me news of your search and I will try to find you as soon as circumstances allow._

_Gandalf_

* * *

Wren lowered the letter and took a few measured breaths in.

"What is the wizard saying?" The voice of the King of Dale, whose presence Wren had forgotten about, shook her out of her stupour. Wren looked at him, his warm attentive eyes were roaming her face.

"He cannot help me, he is preoccupied in Ithilien," her tone was flat, and King Bard picked up her hands again. "He suggests I travel to Rivendell to seek advice from Lord Elrond."

"Rivendell?! Wren, that is an three moon journey one way! And the dangers!.." He was frowning, and she felt too stupefied to answer. She realised now that she had placed all hopes on the help of the wizard. She expected him to be more willing to help his old friend, especially if he indeed believed her as he claimed. Wren did not know Gandalf the Grey, but in her understanding he would refuse to come to help her only under the most severe of circumstances.

"I could also go to Ithilien and search him out," she mumbled still forgetting that there was another person with her in the room.

"Wren, you are being preposterous!" The King exclaimed and shook her hands. She blinked and finally met his eyes. "What is this matter of importance that is worth a journey over the Misty Mountains and even more so across Arda?!" Wren had no answer for him, and his jaw was set in distress. "Wren, you have a life here, in Dale, you are a healer in the infirmary, you are respected and loved…" His voice wavered, and he cleared his throat. "The Chief Healer praises you, patients love you. This is your life, this is your destiny."

Wren took a sharp breath in. The King was right. It was indeed the question of destiny. She could not understand why it was her who saw the dead Dwarven King in her dreams and was to do his will. She was of Men, she was of no significance, no special talents, mediocre with a sword, poor, weak.

And after all, she had finally found a place to belong. She could stay, she could forget, when the dreams came she would not have to open those doors, she could just leave. The Dwarven King himself showed her the way out just the night before. Entering the doors or not was her decision.

Had she stayed in Dale, she could marry and have children, continue her practice. That was what her destiny was, everything pointed at it. She was good at her vocation, she had a gift for healing and finding the cause of disease, she had what they called a healing touch, and in a few years she could veer from her work in the infirmary and pursue midwifery that she had always dreamt about. No one could build a midwife practice on the road and Wren craved it. There were many young women in Dale, weddings and births happened every moon, she would be busy.

Wren looked at her own hands, trapped between large warm palms of the King of Dale. As poorly as Wren thought of herself, she suddenly imagined marrying a man similar to him. A widower, a father, she would be happy if there were already children, she was practical, caring, patient, she would be a good mother to them. She did not seek passion and love, but respect and warmth in a marriage were not such an unattainable luxury even for someone like her. She had never been a sensual woman, she had had one lover in her life, and their intimacy was rather cold and restrained but he many times commented she was not without merits in bed. She could not deny her unattractiveness, but were she to find a man who would disregard appearance she could make a good wife.

For a second she closed her eyes and imagined it. A house, children, freshly washed sheets drying on a rope, a cozy modest parlour with a fireplace, tranquil, even warmth of a family she had never had. And seemingly without her will she imagined the man beside her to have dark hair, with streaks of noble silver, hazel eyes, wilful yet fair temper, a good father, a just leader to his people… Her eyes flew open, and she looked at the man beside her in shock. She could not belive the direction her thoughts took, and yet that was what she so clearly saw in her daydreams.

And for the first time in her life Wren allowed herself the luxury of self assurance. If the impossible happened, and he noticed her, would not being his wife agree with what she was given in her life? Her temper? Her character? Her abilities? She would not rule of course, making decisions for more than a few people could not possibly be her calling, but being his support, his wife, his friend…

He obviously did not care for her now, but she could suddenly with all possible clarity imagine how he could grow to. His children liked her, Tilda especially. Wren had heard from an attendant in the infirmary that someone was asking around about her. She quickly realised that Sigrid, the King's older daughter was inquiring after her, and Wren could not imagine the reason, but then both of his daughters showed up in the infirmary. It was not hard to see through their pretense of Tilda having stomach ache and requiring herbs. They came to have another look at her. Wren tended to the girl and spent an hour chatting with them. She paid little attention to it then, thinking that was their common behaviour. She after all was invited to a dinner in their house, which could not be a common happenstance, but unlike them she knew the reason for it. It was her interest in Erebor Dwarves that brought her there, nothing else. And yet now, with the King sitting close, their hands locked, Wren was starting to think there was more to it than a preposterous idea of two curious girls.

"Wren..." King Bard's voice was anxious, and she carefully pulled her hands back. She needed to think. Her mind jumped at the thought about the wizard's advice, almost request. Rivendell was closer, but she would have to cross the Misty Mountains. Ithilien was far, and disturbing rumours were reaching Dale, of Haradrim attacks happening more and more often, of Minas Tirith declining, of young Men dying in endless fights.

And even if she were mad enough to even consider such journey, she had not enough silver for it. She would need a pony, supplies, and the dangers that awaited her were substantial. Perhaps she could find a company of merchants to join. She realised her mind was frantically considering her choices, she heard sudden ringing in her ears, and she pressed her hands to her chest. The letter from the Grey Wizard slipped from her trembling fingers, and she bit into her bottom lip almost drawing blood. She had previously travelled a lot, on her own, but settling down in Dale she felt she had found a place to stay. She did not want to leave the city that became her home. Somehow she felt if she were to leave it she would never return to her present life.

"I have to go… I gave my word..." She spoke, not meeting the King's eyes.

"Wren..." She could not remember when he started calling her by name. "That is too dangerous..." And then his hands lay on her shoulders, and her eyes shot up, and she saw frowned brows and harsh lines lying at his mouth. She wondered momentarily if he himself understood that his behaviour was no longer the expression of worry of a liege over one of his citizen, but was now hinting on quite different emotions.

It would be so easy to love him, she suddenly thought. He had an even, conscientious nature, he would be respectful and generous. And even more risque thoughts rushed through her mind. His wife had been dead for years, he was probably starved for woman's affection. On the other hand, she could guess he would not be forceful or inconsiderate. There was tenderness in him, and she could imagine it to seep into his home life. His children adored him, she saw him joke with all three of them, and once she saw him in the street with Tilda. they were walking through the street, talking loudly, each had a red apple in their hands, biting with gusto. He was making funny faces, and the girl was laughing. He indeed was so easy to love...

And again, Wren mocked herself cruelly, he was, after all, simply put... alive. He was a man of flesh and blood, if not attainable but at least a man one would not be mad to feel enamoured towards, even if such feelings were to remain unrequited. Many young women in the city would sigh when he would be mentioned, and Wren could see why. A widower, quite attractive, and even though a King he was approachable and kind. He also felt kindred, understandable. It would still be more sensible to fall in love with the man, even with little of actual hope for reciprocation, than desiring one that was nothing but her dream.

Wren had always praised herself for being prudent, and rational, and practical. She would tell herself her heart had no say in the choices she made in her life. Whatever emotions had been flooding her recently she kept them safely locked somewhere in the depth of her heart. Every time her eyes would fall on the pages of yet another volume with King Thorin's name written or his portrait, she would strictly remind herself she had a task to fulfill, she would silence her mawkishness and continue her work.

Longing for King Bard, just like many others, sighing and daydreaming, was at least natural. Craving, painfully and hopelessly, a touch of a man who would not have wanted her even if he were alive was dim. And Wren of Enedwaith knew she had myriads of other flaws, but stupidity was not among them.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: My darling readers, sincerely thank you for your reading/following/favourite-ing and of course reviewing. And as much as it is a question of vanity, I also highly appreciate the feedback as it allows me a dialogue with you, which is what writing is all about. Love you all ardently! **

**Eternally yours,**

**kkolmakov**

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There was a straight, understandable path lying before Wren. Staying in Dale, continuing her practice, she could pretend she was expecting the news from the Council of Erebor Elders, knowing though it would never come or none of their efforts would be of use. She could stay and live the life she thought she was born for. She was a woman of Men, her place was here, with her practice, a possible marriage of convenience, and hopefully a child.

Strange decisive clarity came to her. A man mattered not, she was not choosing between the two improbable, if not impossible associations. In her understanding King Bard had only noticed her because of her inquiries, her unusual interest in Erebor. It made her stand out for him, and after the first dinner his daughters started wondering whether there was a possibility of romance between them. Perhaps she was the first unmarried woman to appear thusly in their home. But unlike them Wren herself knew that her sudden presence in their life had nothing to do with any romantic feelings from the King. Were she to leave now she would remain a vague memory of an unassuming girl with strange pursuits.

As for the other King, Wren prohibited herself thinking about the kiss. She was the only person he could speak to these days. He was a Dwarf and a King, and unlike the man in front of her, Thorin Oakenshield was not prone to informality and any sort of amiability towards simple Men, to say nothing of a scrap of a girl from Men. She was his only tie to the world of living, his liberty was to be forgiven. Nonetheless, in those rare moments when Wren would allow her mind to dwell on it, she had to concede no other man felt that exhilarating. As wonderful a dream as he was, he was nothing but one. Were he live, he would not have spared her a glance.

* * *

Her life lay in front of her, simple and clear, and Wren closed her eyes, took a deep breath in and encircled the wrists of the King of Men with her fingers. She removed his hands off her shoulders, he immediately shied away, his face abashed.

"Forgive me, my lord, but I have matters to attend." She got up, and he hastily followed. Wren herself was amazed by sudden serenity and determination she was feeling. "I thank you for all your help." His eyes darkened, and he studied her face. Wren quickly picked up the wizard's letter from the floor and hid it in her belt pouch.

"So, you are going..." That was not a question, and Wren did not feel it required an answer. She gave him a low respectful bow. When her hand was already on the handle of the door, he called to her. She looked at his face, dark and distressed. "Wren, if you ever need my help, do not hesitate to ask for it."

"I will, my lord. Thank you," after another bow she left the room. There were other visitors in the parlour, and she slipped outside. The clouds were dark and low, and she lifted her face. A few tiny snowflakes were swirling in the air, Wren wrapped tighter in her thin worn out cloak and strode to the inn.

* * *

The decision that she almost did not feel she had made but that was born somewhere deep in her heart and mind was now to be put in action. Wren started with writing a letter to Lady Dis, asking for her aid. Out of all possible scenarios travelling by pony seemed most prudent to Wren, but she could not purchase any, neither she had enough silver for supplies, and while asking King Bard for help would be preposterous, Wren felt Lady Dis was a logical source to turn to. After all, Wren was running errands for her brother, she joylessly jested in her mind. Wren also decided that joining a company of merchants would not be wise, they would have a slower pace, as well as their route would depend on their goals. Wren had her purpose, and she cautiously asked Lady Dis whether there was a person or two that would be fitting companions for her in this travel. Among other things Wren understood that very few of mountain dwellers would choose to go to a house of an Elven Lord with her, but as she stated in the letter she was certain Lady Dis would think of someone.

Wren purchased a map and spent an evening with it. She had had enough experience travelling Middle Earth to understand that King Bard was wrong. Wren was a skillful enough traveller, she could arrive to Rivendell as soon as in four weeks, especially with a pony. Crossing the Misty Mountains was at the same a challenging endeavour. The High Pass was dangerous, crawling with Orcs, although their population was quickly diminishing due to the efforts of the Northmen of the Anduin Valley, led by Beorn, the Skinchanger. Somewhere far at the South there was also the passage near Lorien but venturing that far would be a waste of time.

The next day Wren went and had a talk with the Chief Healer in the infirmary. She informed him that she was leaving Dale for an undetermined period of time, and although she felt forever in his debt for taking her in and allowing her the practice, she was now sadly to give it up. The Chief Healer spent the next hour trying to convince her to change her mind, again and again bringing up arguments, but Wren just nodded and did not waver. Something pushed her to refrain from telling him that she was just to take a two moon trip across the Mountains, foreboding clenching her heart. Inexplicably she felt that was a goodbye, if not forever but for a great time at least. Eventually she promised the man to finish her service that week, and she exited his study leaving him almost in tears. As always Wren pushed her own feelings at the back of her mind, clenched her teeth, not allowing herself to cry, and marched into her inn.

* * *

She was packing her belongings and composing a letter to Thea who was travelling with merchants to Gondor at the moment, when she heard a loud knock at her door. She assumed it was a courtier from Lady Dis, and she jerked the door open.

The Dwarf on the other side of her threshold was smiling widely to her.

"Here we meet again, lass." The Dwarf named Bofur looked exactly the same as she saw him in the inn after her first dream. The same funny two eared hat sat on his head, brown coat, burgundy coloured scarf around his neck, long dark moustache and two thick braids behind his ears. She was just a bit taller than him, and after a few seconds of staring down at him, which seemed to bother him very little, he was merrily studying her, she hastily curtseyed. "Lady Dis mentioned you are looking for a companion to travel to Rivendell, honourable healer. I'm your man."

Wren stepped back and to the side, letting him in. His eyes ran around her room, and she felt rather embarrassed by the barrenness of her dwelling. There was a bed, a desk with a crudely made chair, a trunk, and a basin. Although on the quirky side, the attire of the Dwarf in front of her was expensive, obviously new. She was not surprised, after all he was one of the members of the original company of Thorin Oakenshield. He was quite a wealthy Dwarf these days, and she fidgeted with the skirt of her dull old dress. And then he smiled to her.

"Myself and Master Dwalin volunteered to cross the Mountains with you, my lady." Wren felt her eyebrows jump up in astonishment. "Me here would love to be on the road again, and again, you are not travelling for the pleasures of the Elven food, which is lacking to put it mildly." Wren could not help it and snorted quietly. Judging by a self satisfied grin he gave her, that was the reaction he was seeking.

"Please, my lord, call me Wren, 'my lady' is too much."

"Bofur then, no lords here," he gave her a mischievous wink. "So, how good are you with a walking stick, Wren?"

They sat down, her on the bed, he took the only chair, and he told her that Lady Dis spoke to him openly and asked whether he would like to participate in this journey. He apparently eagerly agreed, himself, the Princess, Lord Balin and Dwalin agreed to divide the expenses for the travel, but in the words of Bofur "one needs little, especially when one is such an ickle bird such as yourself, our pouches won't notice the spending." Wren blushed and started assuring the Dwarf that she indeed required very little. They discussed details, and it was decided that Saturday that week, the two Dwarves would come to her inn at dawn, and they would set on the road. Once everything seemed clear, Wren had only one question left to ask.

"Forgive me, my lord..." He gave her a 'tsk, tsk,' and she quickly corrected herself, "Master Bofur, why are you travelling with me? And for that matter, why would Master Dwalin join us? He did not seem to believe me." The Dwarf pulled his pipe out, asking for her permission with a wave of his hand with it. She nodded, he fiddled with his matches, and soon aromatic smoke filled her room.

"I believe you. Believed you right away. When she mentioned you, I remembered you from the inn. Not every day a girl of Men approaches one with a question in Khuzdul," his astute mischievous eyes roamed her face. "When she mentioned a ginger and a healer, I put two and two together. I don't understand it, you will have to explain it to me later, but I just know you carry something special with you. And again, Erebor is such a doltish swamp these days. It will be nice to be on the road again." Wren returned his smile, and he exhaled another ring of smoke, "As for Master Dwalin… Out of all of us he was the closest to Thorin, you know?" Bofur squinted his eyes, lost in memories. Wren understood. She almost felt like saying she would mention it to the King next time, but remembered Lord Balin's warning. Her story was already trialling the others' trust in her, perhaps she should refrain from mentioning the dead King with such familiarity.

They discussed the rest of small arrangements, he rose, giving her a low bow wished her a good night, and left.

Wren sat on her bed, her eyes on the large pouch of silver on her desk and then on the saddle bags the Dwarf brought with him. Suddenly her journey became a certainty, and Wren pressed her cold hands to the burning cheeks.

* * *

The days before Saturday rushed by, it seemed she had not had a single instant to stop and think. There were so many things to be arranged, she had to pay for her room, find a place to store her belongings, she had only one trunk, but there were a few things dear to her heart in it. One of the winegirls agreed to keep it in her room, and on Friday evening Wren was finishing packing the saddle bags for her trip. Suddenly her fingers bumped into some solid object on the very bottom of the trunk under her old garments.

She pulled out a silver case, immediately knowing what it was, and opened it. She looked at the face of Aldacar, her mentor and her first and only lover, and it felt as if she were looking at a stranger. She seemed to have forgotten the noble features, elegant long nose, cold eyes that were of steel grey colour. She had been different then, and yet it was where her beginning had been, he had taught her so much, and some strange sensation pierced her heart. She could not perceive it but some sort of a daydream suddenly clouded her mind, the images flashed in front of her eyes, of the portrait at the bottom of the trunk, of something terrifying and painful associated with it, she searched her mind and found no pain or hurt when thinking of Aldacar, it was as if she were terrified of the possibility of what this portrait could bring to her life, and she hastily pushed it away from her. It slid along the floor, with a metal clank, and went under her desk, she stared at it for a few instants, and then she decided that was where it was to stay.

She quickly undressed and dove under the covers. It took a while for her to fall asleep although her room was uncharacteristically warm. She spent a large portion of her saved silver on wood after her conversation with Bofur, she reasonably assumed she would spend many nights ahead of her on hard ground trembling in her sleep, so she decided she might as well indulge herself. Finally the sleep came, but no dreams followed.

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**A/N: My darling Guest reader, regarding Aldacar (Wren's ex :D) you can read _Thorin's Courage_ for Wren1 (and this Wren consequently), and he shows up in _Life That Never Was_ Chapter 7 but very shortly. **

**Wren2 discussed her version of the same character (he is more of a sick bastard in that universe, since the whole verse is darker) in _Thorin's Queen_ Chapter 10. **

**For Wren2 I have an unfinished smut piece that will eventually go into _Another Night, Another Path_ where Wren2 and Thorin2 discuss her scars. She has very few, but they exist. **

**Now that you asked, I should probably return to that piece :D**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: Dear ****Skywolf42****, the chapter size is just another thing of vanity of mine. I like them to be of the same size within one story, I think it shows style :) And I also feel it gives a story a nice pace.**

**Regarding the lack of dreams with Thorin: the story is literally about Middle Earth **_**without **_**Thorin, just as it says in the title :) ****But he is coming :D (I'm not sure the readers will enjoy the circumstances around it though now… Dun dun duuuuhhhhhn... :P)**

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**A/N#2: Darling ****Just4Me****, this is literally Timeline #1 (the original storyline of Wren and Thorin) but without Thorin. So, what do you think, is she right in her understanding what her life would have been had he lived through BoFA and in where her place is? ;) But yes, all the elements of her life are in place, Aldacar, Amrod and all other events from Timeline #1 will play out one way or another, but without the King.**

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**Overall, I think my goal for this story was to see what it would be like for all of the characters if Tolkien was right and I was wrong about BoFA and on :D**

**And why they had to meet? That you will find out by the end of the story ;)**

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On Saturday morning Wren stood by the doors of the inn that had been her home since the day she arrived to Dale. She was clad in a new travelling attire, of Elven fashion, trousers and a long coat, and a new cloak hiding her small stature, most of her belongings in the saddle bags were also just purchased, the water skins, the pot for cooking over the fire. The second bag contained balms and bandages. Around her waist she clasped a belt with throwing knives, the weapon she was most skilled with, as well as a short light sword she purchased from a familiar smith in the city. She had assisted his wife in her third delivery, and he made it his personal responsibility to find her a decent blade. She was not exceptional, but could defend herself rather well. Life on the road had never been kind to her, she had had a certain amount of altercations. She hated that though, any life was sacred to her. She knew that was an unpopular opinion but she would prefer to avoid taking lives unnecessarily, even those of Orcs.

The two Dwarves arrived, leading a pony for her, and she bestowed both of them with a low bow. Bofur answered with a flamboyant one and a wide grin, Dwalin grumbled something under his breath, giving her a curt nod. Wren mounted the pony, and their journey started.

* * *

They travelled South, through the marshlands, avoiding the Caverns of The Elvenking, slightly curving their route West, hoping to find the Old Forest Road, so that eventually they could cross Anduin at the Old Ford. The Goblin Caves were still unsafe, but they intended to cross the Misty Mountains at their vicinity.

They had discussed their plan the first evening, while camping to the South of Esgaroth. Bofur turned out an expectedly friendly and easy companion, Wren cooked and they chatted lightly. Dwalin had not spoken a word. The conversation between Wren and Bofur mostly concerned the plans and their previous travels, Wren explained to him that she knew as much as one could know about the Quest for Erebor from the books, and Bofur laughed at the idea of someone wanting to write a book about it.

The ambience around the fire was almost serene, but Wren knew that the question that most interested both of her companions had not been asked yet. She decided to breach the subject herself. She sighed and blew at the steamy tea in her mug. Bofur was smoking seemingly lost in his thoughts, Dwalin sat a few feet away from them, leaning his back to a tree, outside the circle of light from their campfire. His face was dark, and he crossed his arms on his chest. Wren inhaled deeply and spoke.

"I know that Lady Dis enlightened you on my story, honourable Dwarves, and I do not have much to add, but if you have any questions about my dreams, I am more than willing to answer them." She noticed Bofur throw a look at the other Dwarf, but Dwalin kept his eyes on the darkness in front of him, seemingly not listening.

"What is he like in your dreams?" Bofur asked all of a sudden, and Wren tilted her head trying to understand the meaning of his question. "Thorin… Is he like a ghost they tell you about? Milky white and see through?" Dwalin made a disgruntled low noise.

"He is just like any other man, of flesh and blood," Wren hid a smile by taking a sip of her tea. "The dreams are odd, I knew from the start they are not the common ones. They are more… concrete. I can touch his hand like I can touch yours, and it feels so different from other dreams… I still have them, the proper dreams. When it is all foggy, and it is hard to remember in the morning. Just some flashes..." Wren trailed away, embarrassed by her own wordiness. Bofur exhaled another ring of smoke, and then Wren noticed that the dark eyes of Dwalin, son of Fundin were on her. She gave him a shaky smile, but his frown did not waver.

Wren wondered whether she should disclose other details of her dreams, the lack of proper attire on the King and him playing the harp, but then she realised that it could very well be the end of her association with the Dwarves, since hardly any sensible person would continue a journey incited by what seemed like mawkish dreams of a green village lass who read too much descriptions of glorious battles of the past and conjured for herself a romantic fantasy. Wren felt her cheeks burn. Perhaps for the first time she realised what her dreams would seem to a stranger. A dim hall, a half bare man, a kiss… It did not feel as such, but to others her story would have sounded like those ridiculous love ballads maudlin maidens were fond of.

"What did he say to you about the Elven Lord?" Dwalin asked in a hollow voice, and Wren fidgeted with her now empty mug.

"He told me to seek advice from Gandalf the Grey and follow it. That is exactly what we are doing," Wren's answer was firm, and the Dwarf gave her a studying look. She felt this trip were to become a test of character for both of them, but she was not intending to come out of it as the defeated one.

"Thorin was never fond of the Elves," Dwalin's voice grew lower and more menacing, and Wren laughed unexpectedly even for herself.

"That I am aware of, Master Dwarf. And I expect quite a rebuke from the King once he finds out of this trip." Dwalin's eyebrows crawled up in disbelief. "And yet I decided that would be the wisest course of action. I have little hope for the solution to come from the Council of the Erebor Elders."

"Pompous buffoons those are," Dwalin spat up, and Bofur chuckled softly.

"King Thorin called them disagreeable," Wren blurted out, and both Dwarves looked at her in surprise.

"Sounds about right," Bofur nodded, his eyes gleaming mischievously, and they continued to sit in silence, drinking their tea and staring at the fire.

* * *

The Old Forest Road had been cleared in the past two years. The forest was slowly recovering from the evil that, according to rumours, had resided in Dol-Guldur. To reach it, Wren and her companions followed South on the West bank of River Running.

During the day Bofur and Wren would chat amicably, exchanging stories, Wren had an endless amount of questions about the life of the Khazad, and Bofur was not shy to answer them. Sometimes Wren felt he was sharing what he should not have, as the severe tattooed warrior riding behind them would grumble and probably curse in Khuzdul, but it seemed to affect the talkative Dwarf very little. Wren shared the stories of her service in Gondor and her short stay in Ithilien, and of her practice in Dale. The three of them would take turns being on the look out at night, and altogether Wren had to concede that was the most comfortable journey she had ever partaken in her life.

* * *

They were only one day travel away from the place where they were to take West to find the Old Forest River when they were caught up to a company of Erebor Dwarves travelling on barges on River Celduin.

The bargemen and merchants had their camp set on the river bank, they were taking a day of rest before venturing further North, and Wren and her companions stopped to talk to them. Wren kept her hood low, allowing Bofur to quickly though loudly exchange greetings and news with the leader of the company, Dwalin bestowed them with a low but haughty bow, and Wren was listening to Bofur's vague explanation of what exactly the two Dwarves were doing on the road in the company of a woman of Men in Elven clothes, when the first short arrow with black fletching pierced the shoulder of the Dwarf standing near Wren. Screams ensued, Wren saw Dwalin already gripping his terrifying battle axe in his hands, there was clanking of swords being pulled out ot scabbards, and then the Orcs attacked.

They jumped from the nearest bushes, Wren quickly estimated that there were about forty of them, the Dwarves probably numbered twenty, according to the Khazad customs all of them were capable fighters, and Wren pulled out her sword.

"Behind me, lass, hide behind me!" Bofur yelled, and then the first Orc lunged at him.

Dwalin rushed ahead with a deafening roar, low and coarse, and with a squelching sound his axe landed on the head of the Orc whose empty black eyes were fixed on Wren. Wren did the only reasonable thing she thought was appropriate in these circumstances. She ran and hid behind the back of Dwalin, son of Fundin.

"Thank Mahal, not too dim, are you?" He gave her a lopsided encouraging smirk, and she smiled back. She was terrified, but that did not impede her thinking. She was of little help and would only get in the way.

The fight was gaining veracity, Wren had her first fray when an Orc reached her through the lines of defense the Dwarves were building around her, following Dwalin's barking orders, and she swirled and sank her blade in the unprotected throat of the monster. It made a disgusting gurgling sound, Wren pulled the sword back, pushing the sloping body with her foot, and that was when another group of the beasts joined the fight. The attackers had calculated right, the Dwarves were using their barges as their rear, and the Orcs had approached them by water, quickly took down the guards on them, and locked the small company of Dwarves from two sides. Dwarves' situation was also aggravated by the fact that they were now forced to fight deeper and deeper in the water, the fight slowly pushing them back to the barges, and due to their lacking height, they were losing mobility.

Wren's back hit the wall of the nearest barge, and then a pair of clawed hands grabbed her shoulders. The Orc bending over the railing of the barge grabbed her cloak and started pulling her up, she screamed and thrashed. Her first impulse was to blindly sway the sword but she immediately thought it would bring very little result. She exhaled sharply, centered her mind and looked up. The repulsive muzzle of the assailant was just above her, she grabbed the hilt of her sword with both hands, and thrust up and under the chin of the Orc. Black blood rushed onto her face, and she quickly closed her eyes. The monster made a choked noise and released her. She fell into water, splashing and coughing, the buckle on the throat of her cloak cut into her neck when she had been pulled up, and she sank on her knees.

A heavy blow landed on the back of her head, and then the world grew black.

* * *

_Ra nî lomil tamhari, akhsigabi azâgê... / And if the night is burning, I will cover my eyes..._

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"Wren! Wren! Wake up!.." The voice of the dead King Under the Mountain sounded panicked, "Wren, zûr astu?!"

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**A/N: The events of this chapter echo _Thorin's Word a Day_ #16 in Timeline #1.**


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: This chapter is for my darling reader, ****pelargoni****! Thank you so much for your lovely message, and here is the update I promised.**

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**A/N#2: ****My darlings****, maybe a few ****reviews****? :) I don't normally update on weekends recently because I feel people don't read on weekends. Also, I always feel if I waited between chapters longer I'd get maybe 20 reviews per chapter as opposed to the usual 6 :D So I squirrel chapters (for this story I have three more stashed), but then I break and post every day because I want to share the story with you because I'm excited about it myself. But feedback is highly appreciated *shy shuffling of a foot on the carpet* OK, I have embarrassed myself enough, I'll go write the next chapter after the next one in Hogwarts story :D**

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"Wren!" She felt warm hands on her shoulders, heat coming from his body, and she opened her eyes.

"What happened?.." She looked around. Her head was spinning, and the pain was blooming at the spot where the blow fell, but it was ebbing quickly.

"The doors opened, and you just fell in..." She felt his scorching palms run her arms, then ribs, and lay on her hips. She jerked, the fog in her mind was clearing, and with it the realisation of her position came. She was spread on the floor of the very same hall of her dreams, she seemed to have pushed the doors open with the weight of her body. The King was kneeling in front of her.

"Why are you here?" She tried to focus her eyes on his very worried face.

"Where else am I to be?" He asked absentmindedly, continuing his examination. He slid his hands down her legs. "What hurts, Wren?"

"But I'm not sleeping!" She felt muddled and shook her head, trying to clear her mind. "I lost consciousness!" His hand froze on her knees.

"Pardon?" His eyes met hers seemingly for the first time. She groaned and sat up.

"I got hit at the back of my head. An Orc ambush on the River…" He was staring at her silently. "I am not asleep… Which proves once again you are not a dream..."

"I would assume that does not require a proof at this stage..." He grumbled, and suddenly his large hot palm lay at the back of her head and he pushed, making her bend forward. She made a surprised croak like sound. He gently ran the pulps of his fingers on her nape, and she felt her back cover with goosebumps. "I do not see any wound. Is there pain?" He released her, and she sat up again.

"It is gone now. I am well. I feel just as during any other of our previous encounters."

He watched her for several instants, frowning, and she just could not understand the expression, and then his face wavered and he suddenly pulled her into tight embrace.

"Mahal, you frightened me..." He was pressing her into him, and she could not move a single limb, it was overwhelming. There was heat, and she could feel the outline of defined hard muscles through two thin fabrics, and his skin had a faint, spicy smell, so fresh and already familiar after the kiss.

"I am alright..." She could see herself how ridiculous her answer was, something many of her patients would give to their kin, even if their leg was amputated, but she could not find anything better. He slightly moved her away from him and gave her a stern look.

"You are not alright, you are unconscious." He suddenly got up and stretched his hand to her. She looked at it in astonishment, not understanding what he wanted from her. He spurred her with an impatient, 'Common, Wren.' She complied, and he pulled her up on her feet. And then he marched to the door she would usually come in through, it apparently had closed behind her sloping body, and he pointed at it.

"Come, open it. You will wake up." She stared at him. She expected him to ask her why she even was on the River and, to be honest, she anticipated him to censure her for travelling to Rivendell.

"You want me to leave?" Her voice was squeaky and her tone childish, but she was still under the impression from the embrace.

"I want you to wake up, you are in danger! Mahal knows, what is going on in there!" His tone was almost irritated, and because she was still frozen, he stepped to her, firmly put his hands on her shoulders, and turned her around. And then he went as far as pushing her towards the door. She shortly wondered what the inscription on the doors said today, but he was already jerking the handle, she made a wide step into the darkness, and…

* * *

...She stepped out of the door behind him. He pushed his door closed, and then she saw his shoulders droop, and he pressed his forehead to it. He mumbled something quietly in Khuzdul, and the cheery 'well, that did not achieve much' stuck in her throat. He looked so endlessly defeated... And then she realised he was not surprised to be left alone. She had thought he would expect to disappear after her leaving.

"For how long do you stay here after I leave?" She asked carefully, and he jolted and twirled on his heels.

"What?.." She stood waiting for his answer. "Last time it was about an hour." His voice was hollow, and he was studying her. "The time I am here before and after your visits is getting longer with each time." She shortly wondered what would one do in a empty hall for an hour. He did not even have his harp last time.

"Were you given something to entertain yourself?" He walked to her and suddenly smiled widely to her.

"You are ridiculously unobservant sometimes, honourable healer." She was surprised by the almost flirtatious intonation she heard in his velvet voice when it wrapped around the respectful moniker. He pointed to the furthest wall, and she saw a shelf of books, covering the whole wall, as well as several racks, a stand and a shelf with all possible Dwarven weapons Wren could think of it. She indeed had missed these novelties last time. She remembered with embarrassment that her mind had been solely absorbed then with the unease of seeing him for the first time after their kiss. The kiss that she so decisively resolved to never think of again. And then a preposterous suspicion came to her mind. Had he as much as pushed her out of the hall so hastily last time to play with his new toys?! Somehow she doubted he was reading that day. She turned and gave him an inspecting look. He was standing close again, and before she opened her mouth to inquire rather sarcastically whether he had learn anything new from that large volume of Erebor history on the top shelf, his hands lay on her upper arms, and he pulled her closer. She held her breath, but their bodies did not touch, he was considerate. His eyes were shining, and she once again felt almost dazed by the bright blue of his irises.

"I was foolhardy that day, Wren. I apologise, and will ask this time. Could I kiss you now?"

"Yes," her answer was simple and free from doubt. He smiled to her gently, she returned the smile, and he leaned in to her lips. The kiss was gentle but firm, she closed her eyes, savouring the sensation. His hands shifted on her shoulders, and then he seemed to hesitate for an instant, she moved into him, trying to show her approval, and then his warm palms cupped her face. There was something endlessly right about this sensation, and she emitted a miniscule involuntary moan, almost just an exhale, but it made him deepen the kiss, she felt urgency rising him, and she threw all caution aside and wrapped her arms around his neck. Nothing mattered at that moment, but him. The connectedness, the warmth, the love she was feeling.

"Zunshul..." He whispered, slightly moving away from her lips, and then he straightened out, his eyes warm and she could not believe the tenderness splashing in them. He brushed one of her runaway curls off her face, the tips of his fingers stroking her cheekbone, and he chuckled and tucked the orange lock behind her ear. "Biriz..."

"What does it mean?" She was whispering, because she was afraid of this moment to end. He gave her another tender smile and stroked her hair. The gesture was awkward, as if he were not used to such caresses. Or any affectionate gestures for that matter.

"The colour of your hair… This word means golden, but only used for the hair. Such colour is considered very beautiful among the Khazad." She quickly suppressed all her protests and thoughts of how many mud pies and shoves she had endured as a child for her carrot like hair, and reminded herself that nothing mattered now, neither her past, nor what others thought of her looks. Nor the fact that she was possibly slowly dying in the silt of River Running. Looks meant so little to her, she truly believed people paid too much attention to them, but she was glad he enjoyed the colour. On the other hand, she was not going to let him distract her with the clumsy, but obviously intentional compliment.

"And the first word? What did it mean?" His brows jumped up a bit, and she confirmed to herself he was trying to divert her attention from it. And then she watched with shock light flush to appear on his cheekbones, above the black beard. He shifted his eyes, on her lips, and she understood he was planning to veer from talking to bussing to avoid answering his question. And as much as she craved his lips, she quickly blurted out, "I can always ask Bofur or Dwalin when I wake up."

"No!" He exclaimed, and the blush above the beard became more intense. She suddenly imagined pressing her lips to those particular spots, his skin looked endlessly enticing, and then his eyes became sharp. "Bofur and Dwalin? Are you travelling with them?"

"Yes, we are travelling South along the River," his question returned her mind to the matter of her being injured in a combat. She mentally scolded herself, it was stunning but she seemed to have forgotten all about it.

"Travelling where?" His tone had changed from the soft velvet of a few instants ago to commanding and suspicious, and he let go of her shoulders.

"Rivendell." There was no use stalling. She watched his jaw set, and he narrowed his eyes. She prepared to hear some sharp remark, when suddenly his image swam before her eyes. She swayed and grabbed his forearm. There was some instant ringing in her ears, she was losing vision, sharp nausea rose, she felt his hands grasping her frantically.

"Wren? Wren, ushkatul, what is it?.." His voice was reaching her as if from a long distance, and then she took a large gulp of air, her chest heavy, everything went dark, and she felt as if she were dragged through some murky cold waters.

* * *

_Ra adjini tada zasaziliki e... / I'll hope you'll remember me…_

* * *

Wren opened her eyes and looked at the ceiling above her, a tall dome of branches, intertwined, dark bark rough and rugous. Cold light of the autumn sun fell through tall elongated windows, intricate lacy sashes throwing beautiful shadows on the walls around her.

"You are safe, honourable healer." She heard a low voice from her left, melodic and mesmerizing, and turned her head. She realised she lay in a wide bed, strange silken sheets underneath her, light yet warm covers thrown over her, her attire intact, except for her cloak and boots that were taken off, and in an elegant armchair near her bed she saw a tall Elf with long blond hair, noble haughty face, his fingers steepled in front of him. His striking blue eyes under thick black eyebrows were studying her face.

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**A/N: Does that ring a bell? :P Chapter 2 in **_**Thorin's Trust**_** perhaps? ;)**


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: GuestReader A., if ****reviews**** do give an author anything on FFnet, I'm unaware of it :) For me they mostly give physical exercise when I do a small happy mambo when I get one :D**

**And the feedback is crucial! It helps to see if I didn't make something clear in the previous chapter, how everything reads and what readers hope for. I do take all of that into consideration. I think FF is unique that way, unlike a book for example, it is an adventure we all go on together, a writer and readers are having a conversation, it is simply wonderful for me. And I am also vain, no quotation marks :D**

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**A/N#2: ****Thranduil**** just like all other characters in this story is a mixture of the book and the film material. He corresponds with how I wrote him in Timeline#1, I think it is rather consistent with the third film, but perhaps mine is just a wee bit nicer :) **

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Wren sat up, feeling endlessly uncomfortable under the studying look of the strange unblinking blue eyes.

"Am I in the Elvenking halls, honourable sir?" Her voice shook, she had a rather certain idea whom she was talking to. The Elf in front of her was a Sinda, judging by the silver hair, and the amount of imperious power he was exuding convinced her she was not facing Prince Legolas. The man gave her a small graceful nod, something changing in his eyes. Wren gathered her will and returned the nod, "Le suilon, hir vuir." _I greet you, my lord. _The corners of curved perfect lips twitched, an almost smile gleaming in the glacial irises.

"Le nathlam hí, hiril vuir." He had the most remarkable voice, low, hypnotic, as if it were so much more powerful that the words it was pronouncing. _You are welcomed here, my lady. _His words were most reverential, and Wren tensed. She was not used to such treatment. "It is rare that we welcome in our halls a woman of Men who speaks impeccable Sindarin and travels in the company of two Dwarves."

"Are my companions safe?" She realised how ambiguous her question sounded, as if she was inquiring of the outcome of the combat she had been in, and of the current position of the two Dwarves at the same time, and the Elf slightly smirked leaning back in his armchair.

"They are unscathed and enjoying the hospitality of Greenwood the Great. I believe their current visit is much more pleasant than last time." Wren was not certain whether it was an intentional joke, so she refrained from the small surprised laugh that was trying to escape her lips. The conversation she was leading was both terrifying and strangely amusing.

"I am Wren of Enedwaith, a healer from the City of Dale," she decided it was time for introductions.

"Wren? As in a bird?"

"Yes, my lord, just like the bird." 'Wren' was not her genuine name, but it was to be known only to her. Most people just accepted it without asking.

"Filegethiel..." The Elvenking pronounced softly, and her heart thrashed in her throat. Some strange muddling presentiment clouded her mind, and she shifted on the bed. "That is the name of that bird in Sindarin. But you of course know that, Wren of Enedwaith."

"Yes, my lord," their eyes met, and her mind was whirling.

"What is a small bird to seek so far away from home and in such an odd company?"

He was not asking her, his eyes were scrutinizing her as if an odd novelty, and she pursed her lips. Some strange defiance was rising in her. Perhaps she was starting to feel fatigued by the amount of Kings she had been forced to interact with recently. She was just a girl, there was genuinely nothing special about her, her life was ordinary and she was starting to think she had enjoyed it that way. She knew Sindarin because she had talent for languages and had always been curious of the noble race of Eldar, but she had never expected to converse with the King of Woodland Realm. And she had never intended to travel in the company of Dwarves. Or being attacked by Orcs. Or even considering that the King of Dale might ever turn his attention to her. Or to become aware of the intoxicating sweetness the lips of the Dwarven King bore. She was simply feeling rather overtaxed now, and the haughty expression on the face of Thranduil, son of Oropher, and Wren did not doubt he was the one languishly sitting in front of her, was leaving her rather irked.

"What is the Elvenking to investigate in the company of a simple girl of Men?" She quipped, and his eyebrows jumped up, the beautiful marble like face lost its detached expression, and sincere interest flashed in his eyes. Wren kept her chin lifted and shoulders squared.

"While the merchants that were attacked rushed back to Dale, they were worried that their wounds carried poison, your companions stayed behind, concerned for your well-being. Though you sustained just a small blow at the back of your head, you would not wake up. My scouts found them in the woods and offered assistance of my healers." Somehow Wren doubted the offer was met with cheering.

"How long has it been?" Wren asked in astonishment. She had spent not more that half an hour in the company of the Dwarven King.

"One day and a night. Though your body was unharmed, your mind seemed unwilling to return to this realm." Something in his nonchalant tone rang some sort of alarm in her mind. Long fingers with opulent rings twitched on the armrests of his chair, and it felt as if the air around the two of them became slightly colder.

"Perhaps it was the exhaustion of the road," she offered cautiously, and he gave her a sly smile.

"Or perhaps it is what you are carrying with you, Filegethiel Eleirandir." _Dream wanderer. _Wren gasped, and he suddenly shifted and sat on the bed at her feet. She felt his weight tilt the mattress, and his remarkable eyes widened. "What is it, Filegethiel? I feel its presence but can not give it name or shape in my mind. It is a heft, but it is not a burden. You carry it heavily but ardently." Wren held her breath. The eyes of the Elf roamed her face now. "And how do the Mountain Dwellers pertain to it? They were ready to fight till their last drop of blood for you. It took my personal word to convince them to let you out of their sight, and I am certain even now they are pacing their rooms like beasts in a cage."

"Are those rooms or cells?" Wren's voice was quiet but she met his gaze directly. He made a small sound. If he were not an immortal omnipowerful being, she would call it a disdainful snort. He also deftly ignored her question.

"Where does your journey end, Filegethiel?" Some sort of strange half forgotten dream, or perhaps one she had never had, scraped at her memory, something about this phrase made her heart skip a beat.

"Rivendell, my lord," there was no need to lie, and Wren always prefered to avoid deceit when it could be avoided. She thought life were much easier that way. "I seek counsel with Lord Elrond."

"Destiny seems to be against you, my lady. Orcs have been wary of attacking that close to my halls, and yet you ended up in their ambush."

"Perhaps I was destined to have the honour of meeting you, my lord." She did not know where the boldness was coming from, but he was right, she did have a heft, and she suddenly felt an urge to protect it.

"Perhaps, honourable healer," he slightly tilted his head, his spellbinding gaze upon her. He rose on his feet and gave her a small bow. "I hope you would do me the honour and join me for dinner, hiril vuir." His words did not feel like an invitation one could refuse, she thanked him, and he left the room.

* * *

After a short bath and changing into Elven clothes that she was offered, Wren found Bofur and Dwalin in the rooms in the same passage as the one she was given. While Bofur was calmly smoking his pipe in a large armchair by the window, his feet comically not reaching the floor, Dwalin was indeed pacing back and forth, and he froze in his tracks when she came in with a knock.

"Honourable sirs, how are you faring?" She asked, closing the door behind her.

"Don't mind us, lass, how is your head? You gave us quite a scare," Bofur hopped off the seat and came up to her.

"I am perfectly well, Master Bofur," Wren smiled to him, and he looked attentively into her eyes as if trying to determine her state.

"What did the wooden wimp want from you?" Dwalin sneered through his teeth, coming up to her as well, and she wondered which of the two emotions obviously fighting in him was winning. He was clearly worried for her, and at the same time he was feeling mistrustful. He had had doubts about her from the start, and now they were in the heart of the Elven Kingdom. Wren knew his misgivings towards the Eldar were perhaps only surpassed by those of King Thorin. Wren gave the two men in front of her an attentive look and decided that if King Thorin trusted them all those years ago, she should trust them too.

"I think he suspects something is unusual about me. I would prefer to escape these halls as quickly as possible," she whispered leaning closer to them, and she saw Dwalin's face waver. "He asked me about my dreams."

"You were not waking up, lass, we were sick worried," Bofur was whispering as well now.

"I had… one of my dreams," Wren aimed for equivocal statements, she did not know how much was to become known to the Elvenking when said in his forest. The Dwarves exchanged looks. "I had no chance to… discuss anything, it was short." Wren decided to emit the fact that most of the time in her dreams was wasted on busses. Especially considering that she could not bring herself to think of that time as wasted. "Our destination is known now, but I have not received… any instructions."

"We need to get out of here," Dwalin rumbled, and Wren nodded.

"Should I fetch some barrels?" Bofur jested, and Wren snorted quietly.

"Doubt it will work this time," Dwalin sneered, but Wren saw a glimmer of smile in his eyes as well.

"I am invited to share the dinner with King Thranduil, am I to understand it right you two are not to join us?" Both Dwarves shook their hands, and Wren moved even closer and whispered as quietly as possible, "While I am sharing his meal you need to find a way to escape. I doubt you are to be closely watched, we after all are guests here and not prisoners." Dwalin emitted a scornful snort, and Wren gave him a direct look. "I am enjoying this situation even less than you, Master Dwarf. After all unlike you I have something to hide. And a King to protect." She saw emotion splash in the Dwarf's eyes, and she lifted her chin. "I have a task to fulfill, I will not allow anyone, not even the Elvenking to intrude on it, but you need to help me. And before night falls that is, I cannot be allowed to fall asleep here. Mayar know how much control he will have over my mind if I fall into slumber here." She saw concern spill on the Dwarves' faces, they clearly had not considered it.

"Worry not, my lady, we will be ready. Come to this room after dinner, we will wait for you," Bofur gently patted her upper arm.

"And try not to let him muddle you with conversations," Dwalin snarled, and Wren decided it was time to remind him why they were on the road to start with.

"I have withstood the conversation with the Elders of Erebor, Master Dwalin, one Elf will not divert me from my path. I gave my word, and you and I have a mutual friend who relies on me. They would have to tie me down to stop me." She straightened up and marched back into her room. She knew her behaviour was rather theatrical but she was getting tired of Dwalin's mistrust. She had enough trouble as it was, handling the headstrong Khuzd was taxing her patience. And now she had a dinner to attend.


	24. Chapter 24

Wren entered the dining chambers and saw the Elvenking standing by the window. He was facing away from her, seemingly lost in his thoughts, a wine goblet in his long elegant fingers. He turned at the rustle of her dress, and his eyes ran over her. The dress was pale puce coloured, with a silken cape, and two long ribbons of embroidery running down on its sides. Wren felt rather uncomfortable in the gauzy attire, long bell sleeves were hiding her hands, and she kept on shaking them to free her fingers.

"How are you enjoying my forest, honorable healer Filgethiel?" His voice was indeed mesmerizing, she seemed to have forgotten it, and it flooded her hearing again.

"It is the most magical place I have ever visited in my life, my lord," Wren clasped her hands behind her back. The Elf in front of her tilted his chin and invited her to the table with a wide gesture of his hand. There was immense grace in every movement of his tall, virile body. Wren had met a few of his race before, but for the first time she was not feeling she was talking to an immortal being that was as much as a statue. There was power and strength hidden in the body of King Thranduil, but he did not seem cold. Dangerous and calculative, perhaps, but not cold.

They sat, several fragrant dishes served at the table, and the King poured wine into her goblet. Wren noted with surprise the lack of servants waiting on their dinner. She picked up a delicate fork and placed a slice of some root vegetable into her mouth. The King sipped his wine, and she felt his attentive gaze on her face.

"I think we should strive to speak openly, hiril vuir," the voice of the King was soft, and Wren raised her eyes. "It was not a chance circumstance that my scouts have found you in the woods. I have send them. I felt your presence in the Greenwood, I only regret that my guards did not reach you faster and were not able to assist you in the combat."

Wren frowned, cautiously watching the beautiful face of the Elvenking. There was a warm smile hiding in the corners of his lips, and she picked up her goblet to fill the pause. He was clearly expecting her answer, but she was not certain what she were to say. Everything she knew of him, his history, his role in the capture of King Thorin, and later in the Battle of Five Armies, and as she understood now her unconscious mistrust towards him based on the attitude King Thorin and his kin expressed, all these emotions were struggling in her with the sensation of calm sincerity that the King seemed to be exuding.

"I thank you, my lord, for your assistance. Even though your guards were not there to help us, we are enjoying your hospitality now," she decided that a courteous answer was better than none.

"Indeed you are, though I doubt your companions see it this way. I seem to recognise their faces. Are they not two of the original members of the company of Thorin Oakenshield?" Wren made sure her hand did not quiver at the sound of the name of the Dwarven King, and she picked up another piece of the flavourful stew she was being fed.

"They are indeed. They are experienced and skillful warriors, they are to accompany me to Rivendell."

"By the order of Lady Dis, daughter of Thrain, no doubt." Wren lifted her eyes to meet his again, and he slightly tilted his head. "I doubt others of Dwarven leaders would be so accomodating. I have had the honour," there was a hardly noticeable tinge of sarcasm in his low melodic voice, "to have many long and tiresome negotiations with King Dain. And his Queen for that matter. Let us say," he lifted his goblet to his lips slowly, Wren was holding her breath, "Durin would be proud to have such descendant. King Dain is as Dwarvish as they make them. Unaccepting of others' point of view, only concerned about the prosperity of his people… Rather lauded quality for a Dwarven leader, but he lacks… perspective."

"Would King Thorin have it?" Wren instantly regretted her question, her cheeks flushed, and she ardently wished she could take it back. The icy blue eyes of King Thranduil widened, and he placed his goblet down.

"King Thorin would _have _had it, honourable healer Filegethiel, had he been alive. As many differences as we had, I have always admired him. He was a wonderful adversary, after the war he would _have _made an excellent ally." Wren dropped her eyes to her plate, berating herself for the careless question and especially for the unwise wording. "And he would have been wiser in his choice of a Queen, I am certain. Perhaps choosing a woman who would be reminiscent of his sister. I have had the honour of meeting Lady Dis after the war, it was a pleasure. She is perceptive, intuitive and unbigoted. The qualities drastically lacking in most of her race. So what is your quest, Filegethiel, that has gained you support of Lady Dis and is taking you to meet Lord Elrond?"

Warning from Dwalin and Lady Dis' and Lord Balin's words cautioning her from reaching for King Thranduil's help were ringing in her head, but suddenly Wren felt she could rely on her own judgement. She put her fork aside and took a deep breath before speaking.

"The matter I am attending to has to do with Erebor indeed, my lord. I cannot tell you what it is but it is of utmost importance. I was hoping for assistance from Gandalf the Grey but he is detained in Ithilien and cannot help me now. My quest's purpose lies beyond the mundane realm, and I am hoping for advice from Lord Elrond. I cannot disclose more to you, as it is not my secret to speak of." She gave him a direct look and saw a small frown cloud his perfect face. He was silent for a few instants, and then he seemingly had his response.

He stood up, his goblet again in his hand, and walked to the window, overlooking to his realm, shadowy trees and lacy foliage.

"I will be direct with you, honourable Filegethiel, I have little interest in the matters of the Dwarves. We have our trade, with them and the people of Dale and Esgaroth, my woods are still infested but we join our efforts to cleanse them. What interest me now is you." Wren's body jolted, and he turned, his intense eyes on her face. A shudder ran through her body.

"I am of no importance, my lord," her voice broke, and suddenly he smiled to her widely.

"I am certain that was what they all thought, did they not? The Dwarves you were seeking aid from, the Elders of Erebor even, perhaps?" She could not hide her shock, and he nodded confirming his own thoughts. "King Bard as well, I am certain. An honourable man, but lacking acuteness sometimes. I wonder if you have said to him the same you said to me, Eleirandir," the moniker was pronounced in a low spellbinding voice, and he stepped to her. She had to drop her head back to meet his eyes. "And he has accepted it, has he not? I have little interest in Men as well, but even I know you are small and unassuming for a woman of Men. Has he shown even the slightest interest in your affairs, Filegethiel?" Wren's lashes fluttered betraying her emotions. "Oh..." The curved lips of King Thranduil formed a circle, "That is even more interesting. So your unusual behaviour made him notice you as a woman. Am I right, Filegethiel?"

Wren's mind was whirling in panic. She had not expected this conversation to be simple, but she had not anticipated such perceptiveness from the King either. And he was right on every accord.

"Men are blind, they only judge by the looks of things," the King continued, derisive notes appearing in his voice. "They do not see beauty lying within, they seek simple allure, the meretricious attracts them. What you carry inside of you, Filegethiel, you are guarding it well. I can hear your heart beating fast. Are you afraid of me, Filegethiel?" He was looming over her, one large hand with long white fingers on the table near hers, another one lowered with a goblet along his body. She searched her mind and jerked her chin up defiantly.

"I am not, my lord."

"What a curiosity you are, Filegethiel!" His tone was amused, and he walked back to his seat across the table from her. "I am starting to think I was misconstrued before. Your quest… It is a burden for you. You are loyal and determined, Filegethiel, I can sense the strength of your will, but I can see doubt in your eyes," the corners of his lips twitched. "You are wondering what a simple girl of Men is doing in the midst of such affair. You think the task was given to you by mistake. You think there is nothing special about you." Wren fisted her hands on her lap, her knuckles white, eyes lowered, "Your quest is taking you from realm to realm, and your journey is only starting. And you are only a messenger, Filegethiel, people judge you based on your quest, you are indeed of no importance for them, only the weight you carry. What an onus for one person! And so young as well. You have an old soul, Filegethiel, you are astute and prudent, unwilling to take risks, especially with your heart, and right now you are forced to leave your home and venture into a perilous journey." Wren suddenly lifted her eyes and narrowed them at him.

"Have you finished your examination of my character, my lord? I am afraid I have lost my appetite. I would like to return to my rooms now." She started getting up, and suddenly his wide chest, clad in a silver brocade robe, was in front of her eyes. As any Elf he moved swiftly and silently.

"Tell me what it is, Filegethiel, and I will liberate you of it. Let me help you," his strong fingers picked up hers and carefully enveloped them, "I have felt lackadaisical for centuries now, the world is old, as so am I. You evoke curiosity in me, Filegethiel. Place your trust in me, hiril vuir," he leaned to her, and she could not tear her eyes from his face. "These hands," he tenderly turned her hands, palms up, "I can see the stains from herbal extracts, you are a genuine healer, you have travelled, I can see it in your face, I can see the greed for knowledge and skill. I can teach you the recipes of my people, I can let you into my library. Have you not felt how the Greenwood rejoiced when you entered it? The trees welcomed you, Filegethiel. And so do I, huir viril. Tell me of your heft and let me elevate it."


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: Facts regarding Thranduil's Queen are taken from the film, and not the book. **

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**A/N#2: I'll be updating 'Thorin in Hogwarts' story tonight as well, so keep an eye on it, if you are into that kind of stuff :P**

* * *

"I see King Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, in my dreams. He comes to me, and in my dreams he lives. I am to assist him in his passing into the Halls of Mandos." The words fell from her lips, clear and simple, her quest put into words for the first time. Once her voice was not heard anymore under the high arched ceiling of the chamber, she suddenly exhaled sharply, as if an enormous weight falling off her shoulders, and she sways. He was holding her hands and did not let her tilt. "I am to help him, but I do not know how..."

Silence rang in the room, their eyes locked, she could see emotions splash in his blue irises, flooding them, his perfect lips twitched, the previously calm expression wavered, and his eyes roamed her face. She withstood his scrutiny, she had nothing to hide or to fear, and all she felt was a sudden piercing relief from finally saying it outloud.

"Oh Eleirandir..." His voice wrapped around the moniker he gave her, the Dream Wanderer, and he tilted his head, studying her even more attentively now, having reigned his emotions. "What a burden for one person to carry." There was empathy in his tone, but there was no pity. He was watching her, still with a grain of the same curiosity, as if a novelty of sorts, but also with what she could not call anything other but admiration. "What a burden..." He once again repeated, and suddenly she realised how fatigued she was. She swayed again, and this time he carefully sat her down back on her chair. His cool fingers released hers, and he poured more wine into her goblet. She took a small sip, she was not fond of wines and meads, and after seeing it, he walked to the wall and poured some water into a crystal glass for her. She drank it greedily.

The repose it gained both of them seemed to becalm them. He once again filled his goblet and took his place across from the table.

"Lord Elrond is your best hope, my lady," he spoke, his tone almost indifferent now, and she nodded. "Mithrandir was a wiser choice, you were right, he had always been fond of the Dwarves. And of meddling in the natural order of things," Wren wondered if she indeed had detected an impish note in his last statement, and she hastily lifted her eyes at him. There was indeed a small smile hiding in the corners of his lips. "I was right, Filegethiel, you are a curiosity indeed… A dead Dwarven King in your mind, visiting you in your dreams... Do I conceive it right that you had not known him before his passing?"

"I had not. And neither do I possess any connection to Erebor or anything Dwarven. All this affair is..." Wren trailed away, not wishing to continue, but the frustration she had been feeling from the very beginning of these occurrences was now becoming obvious to her.

"A mistake?" The King finished for her, and she saw his eyes warm up. "Such happenstance cannot be a mistake, Filegethiel. If indeed he lingers in your dreams, there is a purpose in this. I sensed that purpose in you when you entered my forest, I sense it in you now." Wren nodded silently again, feeling overtaxed. "And still, I imagine it to be rather exhausting, after all King Thorin with all his merits is yet another Dwarf, with their carping temper and imperious overbearing nature..." Wren wondered whether she should argue and defend her dream companion, after all he was nothing but considerate and proper in his behaviour towards her. On the other hand, doing so she would not change the Elvenking's opinion of the Khazad, and at the same time she would disclose her fondness for the Dwarven King. She decided that no answer was better than yet another careless statement. She kept her eyes down, and then she heard a strange noise from him, a gasp or a moan. She lifted her eyes and saw him sitting, his eyes distant, his elegant hands clenched around his goblet and on the armrest of his chair.

"And yet," his tone was suddenly different from previous, no scorn, no mocking, and in astoundment she saw his eyes glimmer as if with unshed tears gathering in them, "To see those that have gone, to talk to them once more, to hear her voice..." Wren clenched her jaw, suppressing a gasp. She remembered the stories of his Queen, the mother of Prince Legolas, and the horrid destiny that had befallen her in the hands of Orcs of Gundabad. "How clear are you dreams, Filegethiel?" His magnetic voice dropped low, and she noticed pain and envy trembling in it.

"They are more than dreams, my lord, they are as corporeal as my waking time," she decided honesty was the best path, and he shifted his eyes at her.

"And I imagine they are time of seclusion for the two of you?"

"Yes, my lord, it is just an empty room and King Thorin is in it..." She was holding to the shreds of her control, keeping her voice even. The piercing blue eyes of King Thranduil roamed her face. She knew what he was looking for, but she was determined to hide her thoughts.

"I imagine Thorin Oakenshield hardly finds such circumstances favourable… An image of a beast in a cage comes to my mind..." The Elvenking was slowly regaining his composure. Even though externally he stayed calm through their conversation, Wren's own strained nerves made her more sensitive to her conversation companion's affected state, as much as he contained his emotions.

"King Thorin showed nothing but courteous manners and respect towards me," Wren's voice was flat, and King Thranduil imposing black eyebrows twitched.

"I imagine that is the answer your character suggests you give me, Filegethiel." Wren frowned slightly trying to decipher the meaning of his ambiguous statement, when he took another sip of his wine, and after a short pause he spoke. "I have given you a promise, honourable healer, and I will keep it. I have the ability to elevate your burden. There is a tree in my woods, its roots drink from the Enchanted River. In the dusk it tears aromatic sap, not much, enough for one drink of a draught, but once you partake it, the night will be dreamless." Wren's heart thrashed in her throat. "You seek peace, Filegethiel, you want to belong, and you never do. Such is your nature, and such is your curse and your gift. Was Dale your home?" His sudden question pushed her to answer less cautiously than she normally would.

"Yes, but it is no more..." Once the words escaped, she fully conceived their veracity. She would not be able to return to what she had had before, or hoped to have at least. She came to Dale looking for home, but now she was beginning to understand that Erebor was what drew her to come, and now however her quest was to end, there was no place for her in Dale.

"You can stay in my halls, Filegethiel. You will find peace here, you will be safe." The King grew silent allowing her to hear what he was offering. Peace and safety… The two things she had always thought she valued most. Wren had always been making safe choices in her life, no compromising positions, no circumstances that would tarnish her honour, she always had been determined to be honest with herself and others, as only such life in her mind could be lived peacefully. Peace of her mind had been what she had always striven to find and to preserve. "You will not be able to leave, the drink is to be cooked and partaken every evening, but you will have place here."

"What would a simple girl of Men do in the Halls of the Elvenking?" The question fell from her lips as if without her will. And then the Elvenking smiled to her widely, his eyes squinted momentarily in a sincere merriment.

"Once again, Filegethiel, you underestimate yourself. Once this quest is taken off your shoulders, you think there will be nothing of interest left in you. But the quest is you," he tilted his head and met her eyes, "Study my herbs, read in my library, work with my healers. There is a reason this quest was bestowed to you. You have the will, the determination, and the beauty inside to fulfill it. Even without it, you will make a wonderful conversation companion," light-hearted humour was laced into his tone, and he took a sip from his goblet. Wren's mind raced, her hands clammy. Her mind was suddenly flooded with the images of what her life could be, were she to accept his offer.

"Would you like some time to consider my offer, Filegethiel?"

"Yes, thank you, my lord." He accepted her ardent gratitude with a small nod.

"Would you like to return to your rooms, my lady?" He seemed already bored by their interaction, his eyes shifted onto the window, and she realised that perhaps it was her only chance in life to ask for what she asked next.

"Could I go to the Mirkwood library, my lord? I have heard so much of it… And I always think better among books..." It gained her a small smile, and another nod, this time a much more favourable one.

* * *

Wren was taken into the library, and once the door closed after the courtier who showed her in, she heavily sat on a low settee by the wall, in front of a large table littered with maps and parchments. The walls of the library rose around her, filigree, composed of branches and trunks, intertwined and breathing with mysterious, ancient life of the Greenwood the Great. The columns supporting the high arched ceiling were smooth, also made of the native trees, and altogether Wren realised that was the place where she could belong.

Rows and rows of shelves, crates of parchment rolls, maps, volumes and volumes, the library contained the endless wisdom she could get lost in, and then find herself and her belonging. And no dreams would come. And no quest would be upon her, no quest, hopeless and perilous. She had been humiliated, ignored, rejected, attacked and assaulted, and with all her heart she was certain it was nothing but the beginning. But it did not have to be, she could stay and then her journey would end here, in Mirkwood.


	26. Chapter 26

Three hours later Wren came out of the library, there was no courtier to walk her back, but she remembered the path, and with a knock she entered the dining room. It was empty, and she took the same chair she had been sitting in before, and after a moment of consideration she started eating her now cold dinner.

"Would you like your food to be rewarmed, honourable healer?" The Elvenking's voice made her lift her eyes, and she smiled to him. He was standing in the arch in the opposite end of the chamber.

"No, thank you, my lord. It is exceptionally good even cold. And I am almost done." He nodded slightly, and walking slowly through the room, his eyes on her, he approached her.

"You seem different, Filegetheriel. Peaceful, rested. Have you enjoyed my library?"

"I have, my lord. And I thank you. I have not realised how tired and overextended I was until I was given a chance to sit and meditate." Wren tore off and put in her mouth a small piece of fragrant Elvish bread.

"Indeed. Sometimes a chance to doubt one's actions does put those very actions into perspective." The King took the seat in front of her, and his eyes roamed her face. "So… What does your heart desire, honourable healer?" Wren chewed her food unhurriedly, and then she lifted her face and gave him a small smile.

"I would like a safe passage through your woods, hir vuir. And I would like you to know my gratitude for your generous offer." The striking black eyebrows jumped up, and some mischievous curiosity danced in the mesmerizing blue eyes of the Elvenking.

"So such is your decision, Eleirandir..."

"It is, my lord," Wren finished the water in her goblet and gave him another smile. It was perhaps rather melancholic, she already knew that small sadness would always live in her heart, longing for the ancient vital force of Mirkwood and the opulence of its library.

"Then that is what you are getting, honorable healer. I do keep my promises. But appease my curiosity, explain it to me." The King poured more wine in his goblet and water in hers, and Wren sighed.

"I have considered your offer, and besides my own ardent desires, to stay here, and study the herbs, and spend hours in the Mirwood library, I even thought that perhaps partaking the drink you have mentioned would have been an almost… merciful step." King Thranduil's eyes widened, and he made a small surprised sound clearly asking her to elaborate. "Were I not to dream, King Thorin would see peace. Perhaps not the peace of the Halls of Mandos but at least he would not be locked in an empty cold chamber in Erebor. But then I realised it is not what a warrior and a Dwarf would choose. Non-living is no better than death. And it would be a capitulation, and Durin's folk do not faint from a fight." Her voice broke, and she stared into her goblet. Her heart clenched painfully, her eyes suddenly stinging with tears, something forgotten or never seen or heard stirred in her soul, but she quickly regained composure. "I was given a quest, and I will fulfill it. There is no one else, after all..." She finished clumsily and looked at the King hoping she would not see mockery in his eyes. Her sentiment was indeed rather childish, somewhat immature, she thought, that was not a state of mind to have when bestowed with such task, but that was her sincere thought. Thorin Oakenshield had no one but her to rely on. King Thranduil's face was lit with some sort of soft light, and with astoundment Wren saw a tender smile on his lips.

"Is it love, honourable healer?" Her body jolted at the sound of his voice and from the accuracy of his statement. Of course, it was. She seemed to not have a single moment to previously give it a thought, and perhaps she was avoiding giving her own emotions a name, but what else could it be? Her heart fluttered, and she swallowed a lump in her throat. She could not find her voice, but it seemed King Thranduil did not require her answer. "I see. Do not misunderstand me, Filegethiel, I do not attempt to undermine your honour, I understand that it is the sense of duty and the endless compassion, which I so clearly perceive in you, that are pushing you to continue your quest. Your feelings are just a corollary, and judging by the sudden paleness of your face and the tremble of your hands, an unexpected one." Wren quickly hid her hands under the table and immediately scolded herself for this callow gesture. "When your quest is complete, Filegetheriel, and if you have nowhere to go, the doors of my Halls are forever open for you. I have offered it to Bilbo Baggins before, and the same offer is extended to you. Those who survive a war can always find repose in my woods, and you are fighting one as well."

"I thank you for this offer, my lord..." She chewed on her bottom lip, apprehensive to breach the next subject, but feeling she owed the King her directness, "My lord, I have to tell you that I think whatever is the nature of this odd connection that exists between King Thorin and me, it could not be extended on others who are gone." She gave him a sympathizing look, not certain how else to express her concern. He slowly tilted his chin in a nod.

"I understand your meaning, Filegetheriel. I have to admit, there was a moment in our conversation when a thought of trying to utilise your gift to my own benefit crossed my mind, but indeed, honourable healer, you are not a vessel of communication with the Halls of Awaiting. You are a carrier of the unresting soul of a dead Dwarven King. Such is your heft, as we have already discussed."

He twirled a goblet in his long pale fingers, opulent rings glistening on them, and then he met her eyes with some new emotion glowing in his.

"Allow me to only express a hope that your sacrifices are duly appreciated, Filegethiel. It seems to me you are abnegating so much more than you are to be given when your task is complete. And do be careful in your path. Life has gone on after the King in your dreams fell in the battle. There is no void where he stood. Like in woods, when a tree falls, the forest rearranges its life, animals and plants grow in the shade and foliage of others. Life does not long for those who left. Mothers miss their sons, wives miss their husbands, but King Thorin had neither. His allies found new confederates, Erebor has a King, Gandalf the Grey has his hands full. Once you are out of my woods, you will have no one to rely on."

Wren nodded, full-heartedly agreeing with the Elvenking. Such was her understanding, and she did not fail to notice the double meaning of his words. He was promising her full support, but only until she was under the protection of his forest. His loyalty to his woods and his lack of desire to be involved in other's business had been known to her from the start, so all she felt was gratitude for the aid he was giving her, even if it was restricted to the borders of his Kingdom.

She thanked him again and went to find her Dwarven companions. She knew they were probably in the state of complete restlessness and worriment, she was to find them right after dinner, but she felt that her short repose in the library had been necessary. She now felt she had renewed her determination, and she agreed with the Elvenking in the following as well. Having a moment to herself and facing her doubts, and unexpectedly, as a result of his words, admitting her feelings for King Thorin to herself, had brought her to a calm conviction. Her journey lay ahead, and she was to continue it.

* * *

Dwalin had been storming for about half an hour now, while Wren sat in a chair by the window, listening to his bigoted hardheaded rambling, catching Bofur's eyes from time to time. Awkwardness for his companion's harsh offensive words and at the same time the merriment from the comical picture the bold Dwarf presented were mixed in Bofur's eyes, and at some point Wren took a deep breath in and got up.

"Enough, Master Dwarf." Her tone was respectful but firm. "I have listened to you, and I understand. You do not trust the Elves, and you spent three hours worrying about me, and thus I forgive your behaviour, but it is the last time you question my decisions. I do not need you," she took a step ahead meeting his eyes, her chin lifted and shoulders squared. "I am travelling where I need to go, and in the company of those I deem worthy. I have my quest, I have my duty to your King, but he is not mine to obey. I make decisions, and you are free to turn around and go back to Erebor. I am crossing Greenwood the Great in the company of King Thranduil's guard and am going to Rivendell. If you are to travel with me, this is the last time you are to question my judgement. If you decide to stay and if it makes it easier for you," Wren realised she was livid, and the pluck and venom of words she usually kept to herself seeped into her speech, "Pretend in your mind that I am your Queen and do as I say."

She turned around and left for her chambers. She had her saddle bags to pack, the Elves were kind to provide them with provision and clean clothes. While folding her new tunics and dressing up in her now clean travel attire, she would giggle again and again recalling the slacked jaw and round eyes of the imposing tattooed warrior.

* * *

The travel through Mirkwood was uneventful. Glum Dwalin walked in complete silence, Bofur continued with his stories, the Elven guards exchanged short phrases in Sindarin, throwing curious looks at her and disdainful ones at her Dwarven companions. Wren would enjoy talking to them, but she understood their prejudice against her and she did not condemn it. Such were the relationships between the races, and she only hoped that in decades to come the peoples would find a path to closer friendship.

After a fortnight of travel, they had finally reached the edge of Greenwood, and it was time to say goodbye. Wren thanked her guards wholeheartedly, and after bestowing her with low bows the Elves disappeared between the trees.

"Cannot say they were too chatty, but I will miss the wood lads," Bofur mumbled under his breath, throwing Wren a mischievous side glance, she snorted, and Dwalin made a scornful low noise. Wren deftly ignored it, and they continued their journey towards the Mountains.

The dream came the first night. She finished her turn on the look out, woke Bofur up and curled under her cloak and blanket. The warmth from the campfire was cozy and dry, and she quickly fell into slumber.

* * *

_Ra nî lomil tamhari, akhsigabi azâgê... / And if the night is burning, I will cover my eyes..._

* * *

She opened the door, stepped into the hall, and immediate crushing embrace of the Dwarven King locked around her.

"Mahal help me, you are here..."


	27. Chapter 27

He was pressing her into him, one large scorching palm on the back of her head, fingers half buried in her hair. She shortly wondered why her hair was loose, she always wore a braid, but she was immediately distracted by the sensation of his other hand on her back, splayed on her shoulder blades, almost covering them both. She was enveloped in the heat from his body and the fresh, spicy smell of his skin, and then he pressed her even closer, some small squeak escaping her from the force of his crushing embrace, and then he released her and stepped back. She expected embarrassment on his face, but he was frowning with worry, his eyes and hands roamed her, the palms slid on her neck and then shoulders, and he firmly but gently grasped her upper arms.

"Wren, are you hurt? Wounded? What is happening?" He was asking impatiently, not meeting her eyes, studying her, as if trying to see her injuries.

"I am alright, my lord. I am out of danger, it is just a usual dream." He finally heard her and exhaled sharply with obvious relief. He lifted his eyes, and then he cupped her face and leaned in for a kiss.

Wren had always prefered to have a thoroughly preconceived and considered plan of action for any situation in her life, she would try to anticipate any sort of happenstances in her life. She was surely not prepared for this. They had exchanged kisses last time she saw him, but his ease and lack of doubt that such were now their customary interactions were a dire surprise for her. All these thoughts flashed through her mind in the sliver of an instant while his breath brushed her lips, but when their skin met she had no single sane thought in her mind left. She rushed into the embrace to meet him, her hands slid around his neck, and she let the buss to flood her and carry her away.

The lips danced, breaths mixed, and then he shifted, his palms still on her jaw, but now the thumbs were brushing the sides of her chin, fingers under her ears, and he peppered small kisses on her cheekbones and nose.

"Zunshul..." His voice was but a raspy whisper, "I was fearful for you..." She was squinting her eyes, from the pleasure of the feather like kisses falling on her skin, delicious goosebumps trickling down her spine, her skin tingly. Her cheeks and probably cleavage were flushed, but not in a heady blush of embarrassment. Sudden carnal desire woke up in her, warmth spread through her extremities, the long forgotten feeling of passion, and heat, and hunger flowing through her veins and nerves.

"I am unscarthed, we are on the road again, with the help of King Thranduil..." She whispered to pacify him, and suddenly his lips came to halt on her jaw. She was tilting her head allowing him more access, her hands were stroking his shoulders, and she immediately felt the rigidness and tension in his body.

"What?" His voice was sober. And angry. He straightened up, his eyes still dark from the passion that with thrill she felt was waking up in him as well, just a moment ago, but his lips were already set in a stern line now, and she saw muscles dance on his jaw.

"I know you have not had the best relationships with him," she rushed to reassure him, "But he showed nothing but support to me. His guards escorted us through Mirkwood..."

"Forget the cursed Elf!" The King suddenly barked at her, and her body jolted. She was painfully reminded of their first encounters. There was the same harsh obstinacy and intransigence in his blue eyes that she had seen when it all started. "What are you even doing on the road?! Do I understand it right you are on your way to Rivendell?"

"I am," she started in a calm voice, he released her and took a few steps away from her. He folded his arms on the chest, in the already familiar gesture, not crossing them, but one hand grasping the other upper arm. The pose was defensive and radiating stubbornness. He gave her an haughty look, as if demanding more explanation. She sighed and tried again, "I am only following the advice of Gandalf the Grey, since the Elders of Erebor did not give me any answer, I am now to try to seek help from Lord Elrond..."

"That is preposterous. You are to stay in Dale and wait for the Elders or the wizard to look into this, Wren," his tone was irritated, and she frowned not understanding. "The roads are dangerous."

She blinked and opened her mouth, but no words came. She could not believe it! He was ordering her around, not even asking, ordering! More so, he expected her to listen to this imperious, autocratic tone! She clenched her hands and took a few deep breaths, reminding herself he was a man and a Dwarf, autocracy was in his nature, and besides he lacked any power at present. He was quite clearly grasping for shreds of control over his existence. She did not appreciate him trying to spread such control over her life as well, but she attempted to be understanding.

"Gandalf the Grey is preoccupied and cannot help me now, while the Elders are most likely to never take any action, as they looked hardly convinced after my meeting with them. Lord Elrond is the most reasonable..."

"You are not going there!" He interrupted her again, this time dropping his voice low and giving her a heavy glare. "You are to reverse your journey and return to Dale, into safety."

"My lord," Wren noticed her voice was already less even, but she was still keeping her temper under control. "Sitting in Dale will bring no result..."

"Getting killed on the road will bring none either!" That was the last drop to overfill the glass of her patience. Somehow being interrupted had evermore irked her beyond measure, perhaps because she could not stand rudeness. She had always thought that even when disagreeing people should have tried to be civilised and take turns talking!

"I do not appreciate your tone, my lord." She narrowed eyes at him. "I am making my own decisions, and such is this one. I am going to Rivendell." He grabbed her upper arm, it was rather painful, and she gasped in shock.

"You will get yourself killed, you impossible woman! I am not allowing it!"

"You have no power to allow me anything! It is my life!" His nostrils flared, the icy eyes were burning, and she jerked her chin up.

"If you think that being dead will stop me from imposing my will, you are cruelly mistaken, honourable healer." His threat was empty, they both knew it, but he was stubbornly baring his teeth and then gave her a small shake. She saw red. He was manhandling her!

"Keep your will to yourself!" She yelled into his face. "It is the last thing I need!"

"Because I am dead I suppose," he venomously sneered.

"I care not that you are dead! You shall not order me around because I am not your property!" His eyes widened, and he pulled her close to his enraged face.

"You are not my anything!" He yelled into her face, and she suddenly saw the pain behind the fury splashing in his eyes. She sobered a bit and tried to reason with him.

"I understand you feel I should have discussed it with you, but please understand, I am capable. I will reach Rivendell, and I have high hopes to receive some clarification from Lord Elrond..."

"Clarification?! You will be ambushed on the road by Orcs and gutted in search of some vague advice from a pompous Elf! And for what?! For a ghost rattling in your dreams?!" She once again opened her mouth to finally tell him off, he was again interrupting, saying nonsense and being illogical, but unlike some stubborn Dwarves in the room she actually listened.

"You are not a rattling ghost... You need my help..." She was surprised herself how fast her anger dissipated, her voice soft, and she stretched her hand to him. He did not accept it, he twirled on his heels and marched to the table. The legs of the chair he jerked made an unpleasant screech on the stone floor, and he angrily dropped on the seat. He was not looking at her, twirling a short dagger he picked up from the table in his fingers.

She suddenly saw several weapons arranged on the table. He grabbed her so fast when she entered that she had no time to notice the changes in the room. The bookshelves and the weapon stands were at the same places as before, there was an additional table by the wall, with maps littering it. She also noticed the room was warmer, there were more torches on the walls, it was thus better lit.

She realised the weapons were spread on a cloth, and a whetstone and a few other tools for cleaning and sharpening blades were arranged there as well, he was clearly preoccupied with it when she entered. Or trying to preoccupy himself. A suspicion stirred in her heart.

"How long had you been here before I came?" He pretended to be busy with a cloth he was dunking in the camellia oil. She waited, holding the pause, and she saw his chest heave in an almost unnoticeable sigh.

"About three hours."

"And after I left last time?" The corners of his lips twitched in a grimace, bitter lines lying near them. She had become rather proficient in reading his slight, restrained expressions.

"More." Something in his hollow voice made her step to him and slide on the chair near him.

"How much more?" He did not raise his eyes at her, and she noticed his fingers were not moving.

"Perhaps six or seven hours, it is hard to judge, I have no hourglass, and no Sun shines here, for me to judge," he answered in a flat tone and threw the cloth from his hands aside in an annoyed gesture.

Six or seven hours?! She harshly scolded herself for insensitivity. He was worried, and terrified, and obviously feeling so very helpless, and he had to endure seven hours of this torture last time! Any sort of apprehension she was feeling was gone now, and she covered his hand with hers. His fingers twitched but he did not take the hand away.

"Forgive me, my lord. It was inconsiderate of me to not reassure you..."

"Could we perhaps drop the moniker, Wren?" He asked all of a sudden, and she yet again froze with her mouth half open.

"Could we discuss at least one point completely and then move to another? We just continue misunderstanding each other and argue over nothing!" She blurted out, and immediately pressed her hand over her mouth in mortification. Her terribly embarrassing habit of losing her composure and bursting out in words once her patience would thin out had finally made itself known. His brows twitched, one jumping up slightly, and she bit into her bottom lip.

"Which points would that be, honourable healer?" His eyes softened, and he twisted his hand, their palms now meeting, and her gently squeezed her fingers.

"I understand your frustration," she stumbled over her sentence, but emitted the moniker, "And we should discuss my further actions, but you also have to accept it," she once again choked on the unpronounced moniker, "I am making my decisions, on my own." She spoke firmly, industriously trying to ignore how distracting feeling her hand in his was.

"Your decisions do not concern only you now, Wren. If you get killed, I will probably remain in this hall forever. Last time I saw you being dragged towards the doors on the floor by an invisible force, out of my arms. What do you think happened if an Orc chopped off your head?" He was being overdramatic, but she felt acute sympathy.

"Perhaps I would end up in this hall forever as well," she muttered.

"Mahal help me, that would be a disaster," he mumbled, and she jerked her hand out of his. He guffawed, clearly seeing how offended she was, she felt her cheeks burn, she had behaved immaturely and allowed herself behave like a pouting child, and then he gave her a mischievous look, "Would you not go completely mad from being strained with a cantankerous overbearing Dwarf here for all eternity?" She blushed even more furiously, because as inexperienced as she was in the matters of romance, she clearly heard the flirty notes in his voice. And yet again, she had a suspicion he was trying to distract her just like the last time.

"My lord..." She started, and he cocked a brow, in a whimsical pointed gesture, and she choked on her reasonable arguments. "If not this moniker, how am I to call you? You are certainly not my King." She realised she sounded flirting as well, and even was close to giggling, which she thought she was not even capable of, but she felt suddenly giddy, especially at the view of this funny brow, moving as if at its own will, giving him an unexpectedly light air. More so, they had been arguing and raising voices at each other just a few instants ago!

And then his fingers wrapped around her wrist, and he pulled her to him. She would like to claim that she fought, but the ease, with which she slid on his lap, and the readiness with which she placed her head on his shoulder spoke otherwise.

"Thorin. You can just use my name, zunshul."


	28. Chapter 28

Wren sat in his arms, her nose pressed into his neck under his ear, and she skewed her eyes at it. It was large, so very Dwarven, and sudden tenderness flooded her. She imagined pressing her lips to it, but then stopped herself. Surely, such frivolities would be shocking for him. Not only he was a King and a Dwarf, and the only reason they were currently in such position was that she was his only companion, and he, as any living being, required some warmth, but also she reminded herself they had exchanged nothing but two kisses, and were their circumstances any different two kisses would still be nothing, hardly even a beginning for anything more. And again, she thought bitterly, were their circumstances different, she would not have received as much a word from him, not even a glance. Had they met in his Halls, had he lived, what a simple healer of Men were to have in common with the King Under the Mountain? She felt suddenly cold, despite his hot fragrant skin near her, and she pressed into him harder. She would allow herself just one moment, one moment of pretending she had a right for this touch, for this embrace, for his arms around her, his heart strongly beating under her hand on his chest, for the soft heavy wave of his hair brushing at her cheek. She would not cry, she ordered herself, she would absorb this piercing moment, like leaves drink sunlight.

"Wren, are you spoken for?" The King's voice was low, an uncharacteristic hesitation in it, and her body jolted. From the sound of his velvet voice and from the meaning of his question, her hand curled unintentionally, and she was now clenching in her fist a handful of his tunic. She took a careful breath in, prohibiting herself to read anything into this question, and prepared to answer when he interrupted her, "Forgive me, I should not have asked." He slightly shook his head, and she rushed to reassure him.

"You can ask.."

"Of course you are not," they spoke at the same time, and she straightened up and looked at him. Her first thought was that he had just implied she was not worthy of anyone's affection and desire to bind their life with her, and she agreed, but sitting in his arms and hearing such words… hurt. He was looking straight ahead, and she suddenly noticed crow's feet in the corners of his eyes. Her mind whirled, and then he turned and gave her a soft look. "You would not have kissed me if you were, you are too honourable for that."

Heady blush spilled on her cheeks. The compliment was so very generous, especially from a Dwarf, for whom nothing mattered more than honour! And yet it was erroneous, she suddenly thought. Were she someone other's betrothed, she would still have given him her heart, even though he had no use of it. There was no choice, not for her. She would not of course have become an adulteress, she would have seized her association with another man once she realised her feelings for the King, but she knew now she would have given up any other, unless she were married and a mother of course.

"You do not know me..." She mumbled, and he suddenly smiled widely.

"I have had plenty of time to ponder your character, Wren. When my anger does not get the best of me, I can be rather perceptive," his eyes were laughing, and she blushed more. She instantly realised she was sitting on his lap, his body was close, and she wondered whether he was even aware of how inappropriate their position was. Perhaps, it was different for Dwarves, she could not know, the mountain dwellers were secretive regarding their internal customs.

"What does 'zunshul' mean?" She asked, just to ask something, and he leaned in and pressed his warm lips to her cheek. She kept on staring at him thought this caress, she noted thick long lashes and the tip of his long prominent nose pressing into her skin.

"Alike a bird," he spoke quietly, his tone soft and slightly bashful, and then he chuckled, "I do not know where that came from… You are just so small..."

"From the name perhaps," she pointed at the obvious, fighting her own mawkishness, and he chuckled again.

"You are not very maudlin, are you, Wren?" Their eyes met, his bright blue irises very close, and she could not help but snort. "Little prudent healer from Enedwaith… Depriving my courtship of any charm, aye?" He was smiling to her impishly, but her face dropped.

"Courtship?" She asked squeakily, and immediately regretted her words. It sounded as it she did not approve, while she was just surprised. He tensed under her, and she understood she offended him. She rushed to reassure, "I was not aware you placed so much meaning into it, I apologise for asking..."

"You are right though," he shifted under her, seemingly attempting to carefully take her off his lap, and panic burst in her mind. Without her will her arm wrapped tightly around his neck, and she pressed her forehead into his temple.

"Please… I apologise for my words, I did not mean to offend." His chest was rising under her hand, and she released the tunic and stroked him. "I am honoured that you consider us courting..." It was easier to talk now that she could not see his face.

"You should not be. I am taking advantage of your position and tainting… You have shown nothing but kindness to me, and you are in danger because of the quest bestowed to you, and I..."

"You are not the only one making decisions here!" In her desire to reassure him, she took a sharp breath in, overcoming her bashfulness, and she cupped his face, gently turning it to her to meet his eyes. "You sound as if you think you have deceived and… seduced me," she stumbled over her words, and his eyes darkened, "Yes, we have no choice but to meet here and try to find ways out of your… predicament, but how we treat each other… It is upon us alone." His face wavered slightly, just an almost unnoticeable frown in the black brows, and she gulped feeling endlessly uneasy.

"I fear my intentions might seem dishonourable," he spoke slowly, with difficulty breaching a subject, which he clearly was unaccustomed to discuss.

"I do not doubt them," she answered firmly. She did not lie. However little, as she imagined, he would have paid her heed in other circumstances, she was certain his actions now were caused by nothing but honest feelings.

"You have no choice here, Wren," he mumbled and cringed, apparently unsatisfied with his words.

"I could move away from you and sit on another chair," she attempted to lighten his mood with a jest.

"You know what I speak of," he grumbled and gave her a glare from the corner of his eye.

"I honestly do not," she said and stroked his chest again. She did not understand this sudden uncertainty of his, but it was endlessly endearing. "I do not even have to come in into this hall."

"I am a Dwarf, Wren," he suddenly raised his voice and she understood he was trying to delegate some notion to her. She did not understand but nodded, encouraging him to go on. "It is different for us, when we meet… It is of no importance," he suddenly veered from his statement, "You are of Men, had I been alive, you would have had choice, perhaps you would not have wanted to even talk to me… Even if Dale is now restored, people surely have not forgotten their mistrust of the Khazad, and..." He continued talking, in a low somber tone, but she could not hear him. She felt as if she was once again hit to the back of her head by some heavy weapon. He thought she would not want him were the circumstances different!

"Wren?" She heard his voice, he was addressing her quite obviously irritated by her lack of attention, and she threw all her caution aside, grabbed his ears and pressed her mouth to his.

* * *

He made a surprised hum like noise but quickly recovered, and his hands grabbed her upper arms. He pulled her closer, and she once again marvelled in his inexperience and enthusiasm. The mixture was intoxicating, and she rushed ahead. One thought thrashed in her mind, she would have him for so little! Her tongue brushed at his lips, a low rumble suddenly rolled somewhere in his chest, it reminded her of a purr of some large cat, a mountain lion perhaps, it was so unfamiliar and so thrilling, and she lost any sense of dignity and propriety, and pushed his lips open. He exhaled, unmoving for an instant, and then his large palm cupped the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair, and he pressed her impossibly close, tilting her head to his convenience, and his tongue rushed to meet hers. She moaned into his mouth, unable to control herself, her whole body singing, blood as if boiling in her veins, and she clawed at his shoulders.

"Wren..." He had released her mouth, and immediately slipped his lips on her jaw, and then neck, she dropped her head back, she was terrified he would not understand how much she was enjoying his attentions, "Wren… Kurdu..."

A quiet creek reached her mind, and she felt the King in her arms freeze.

"What?..." She felt completely muddled, as if after a few mugs of the strongest of brew. And she also felt rather irritated, she did not want him to stop!

"It is the door, it is… opening," his tone was tense, and she sharply sat up and whipped her head. He was right, one of the leaves was vibrating, and then the ring on its handle jerked. "I think you are told to leave..." He was staring at the door, and she felt suddenly embarrassed. Not only from the disarray that his and no doubt her hair were in, but also from the sudden understanding that if she was so delicately hinted that their time was up, there was a sentience in this Hall capable of observing them and even making hints. The creek of the door, she suddenly thought, was an equivalent of a delicate cough. Wren jumped off his lap.

"Wren," he grabbed her hand and pulled her towards him, she dug her heels into the floor. "We have not discussed what you are to do now!"

"There is nothing to discuss," she answered absent-mindedly, looking at the door. The handle jumped up again insistently. "I need to go..."

"Wren," his tone was irked and uncertain, and she turned and met his eyes.

"Thorin," her lips wrapped around his name without effort, and she would think about how it felt later, "I am sure of it, I will be safe, Dwalin and Bofur are with me. We are near the Mountains already, we will cross them, and I will speak to Lord Elrond," she spoke quickly, he was pressing his lips in a distress grimace, "Please, trust me.."

He was still sitting, and she leaned in and pressed her mouth to his in a chaste but passionate kiss.

"We will talk soon again," she whispered in his lips, and he sighed. Their foreheads pressed together, she closed her eyes, reveling in the moment, and then rushed to the door. The last sensation she was aware of were her fingers slipping out of his, and…

* * *

_Ra adjini tada zasaziliki e... / I'll hope you'll remember me…_

* * *

"Good morning, lass," Bofur's merry voice came from the campfire, and Wren kept her eyes closed for a few more instants. Silly tears were choking her, she pressed her face into her rolled up cloak to hide them. It was time to get up and continue her journey.


	29. Chapter 29

It had been five years since Wren had travelled such distances, and she was beginning to feel weary. The winter was coming, once they had reached the Mountains it was beginning to snow almost every day. She had never been in the Misty Mountains before, and their grandeur overwhelmed her. The rocks, grey and menacing, the snow lying on the tops, disappearing in the heavy clouds, the view in front of her seemed louring and her heart was uneasy. She was short and slender, even wrapped in the Dwarven cloak, the gift from Lady Dis, over her Elven travel clothes she would shiver and her teeth chattered. Unlike her Dwarven companions, she had long legs in relation to her body, while they were brawny, stable, but she was not as light as an Elf would be, the deeper the snow, the harder it was becoming for her to tread through the narrow mountain paths.

Each day clouds were getting heavier and lower, even Bofur seemed to have caught the overall mood, and less and less one could hear his cheerful chatter. Dwalin seemed unchanged, still stubbornly marching through the rocks, sometimes in a course of a day he would not say a single word.

She did not see the King in her dreams for another week, although she could not call her nights dreamless. There were nightmares, full of some long forgotten memories, of her parents' house, and the cruelty of her brothers, of the empty white hut of her grandmother, they were blurry and anxious, and making her wake up with a gasp and wet cheeks, and some dark premonition was lurking in her mind. Wren pushed the thoughts at the back of her mind and kept on walking.

* * *

They were sitting by the fire, in a small alcove in the mountain wall, only hardly covered from the gushes of the piercing wind, small icy flakes in it cutting Wren's cheek all through the day like miniscule razor blades. She had stretched her feet to the fire Bofur had started, her boots drying on the rock near her, and she rubbed her hands. The fingers were blue, from the lack of blood circulation and from the effort of holding on to the reigns. She ended up with a temperamental pony, Buttercup, and she could not afford to release the reins for even the moment during the day travel.

"Does he know where we are going, lass?" Dwalin's voice came at such surprise that Wren stared at him for several instants, blinking frantically, her mouth half open. "Thorin… In your dreams..." The tattooed warrior kept his eyes on the fire, and Wren threw a confused look at Bofur as if asking for his guidance. He was smoking his long pipe squinting his eyes. "Do you still talk to him?"

"I do. I saw him after we crossed the River. He knows," Wren could not come up with anything else to say. Dwalin, son of Fundin lifted his eyes at her.

"And does he agree with it?" There was sarcasm in his words, and Wren shrugged.

"Not entirely, but he knows at this stage Lord Elrond is our best chance. He is worried that the journey is too dangerous," Wren rubbed her hands again.

"We have crossed the Mountains before, and the Skinchanger with his herd have cleared the caves," Dwalin protested, and Wren heard Bofur snort.

"It is not us he worries about, Dwalin," Bofur breathed out a ring of pipeweed smoke, and it floated above the fire, just like his words. Dwalin stared at him and then shifted his heavy glare at Wren. She gave both Dwarves a puzzled look, and suddenly Dwalin smirked lopsidedly.

"Be careful, lass. You do not want another Dwarf, this time King Thrain to return from the Halls of Mandos and barge into your dreams as well, to set his son's head straight." Wren blinked in confusion, not quite ready to believe that Dwalin was implying what it seemed he was implying, and Bofur burst into merry laughter at the background. Wren gave the bald Dwarf an uncertain smile and received a grin in return. Perhaps he indeed meant what she thought, and she blushed headily.

They continued sitting in front of fire in amicable silence, and Wren's thoughts again and again would return to her last dream. The King in her dream said, it was different for Dwarves. What did he mean?

* * *

They were starting the ascend, the path was getting steeper and steeper, and it became clear that her pony was afraid of heights. It was a sturdy little animal, headstrong, but capable on the even ground. In the Mountains it turned into a capricious volatile nightmare. It would jerk from every bout of thunder, and the storms were more and more frequent. Wren felt exhausted and as if having endured a beating at the end of each day, but there was nothing to be done. Buttercup was too small for others, though Dwalin was of her height and Bofur even shorter, they were thrice her width and much more heavy. All Wren had left was to swear under her breath and once again pull the reigns.

At the end of the previous day they started dismounting and passing the trickiest parts of the path on foot, leading the ponies behind them, and now, an hour before the darkness fell Dwalin offered Wren to ride on his pony. She gratefully nodded and climbed on the wide back of his roan. She was so exhausted that she started nodding off, and at some point sloping off the saddle, when the Dwarf supported her, his spade like hand on her upper arm.

"Hold on, lass, we will find a spot for a camp soon," his tone was grumpy but kind, and she shook her head vigorously trying to wake up. "You are quite a fighter, I would clobber the stupid animal between the ears already."

"We would have to abandon some of the provisions if we only had two ponies," Wren mumbled and rubbed her eyes.

"Never crossed the Mountains before?" He asked her, and she looked at him with surprise. That was the first proper conversation they had ever had.

"Only Emyn Muil and Ered Nemrais." He nodded, and she saw he was studying her attentively. She gave him a cordial smile.

"We will find a cave soon," he repeated and patted the neck of the animal.

* * *

The next day they rearranged their bags, the wind and snowfall were growing stronger, and they clasped the bags on Dwalin's and Bifur's ponies, Bofur led Buttercup, Dwalin his Thistle, and Wren was left with Bofur's calm and somewhat slow bay. Closer to the middle of the day, the clouds above them were so dark that it felt almost as if the sun had rolled behind the horizon already, and Dwalin barked at her to climb on the pony. They argued shortly, she thought moving the bags onto Buttercup was too much of an aggravation, and he told her to climb on Buttercup then. She was trying to convince him she was still capable of walking, but he did not listen. The wind was slashing and howling, and she was losing her voice from this dispute, so after a while she just mounted Buttercup and clenched her teeth expecting a power struggle with the stubborn animal.

* * *

The trail Wren and poor Buttercup tumbled off from was high, on a tall narrow cliff, the fellfield almost vertical. Pain burst through Wren's body, piercing her arm and ankle, blooming in her mind like white fireworks.

The scree she landed on was only partially covered in snow, sharp edges of rock crushing the bones of the unfortunate animal. Poor Buttercup had to be abandoned where it landed, hardly breathing, after taking most of the impact of the fall on itself. Wren got up on her feet and looked up, the trail somewhere above, almost covered by the heavy clouds. She started walking, knowing that she needed to stay warm.

Her feet were sliding on the thick crust covering the snowdrifts, the twisted ankle shooting searing pain up to her hip, her fingers immediately frozen and immobile, deep cut on her right palm, though numb, oozing blood through a hastily made bondage. She clenched her teeth and pushed forward, hardly seeing within her arm's reach, by then blizzard raging around her. The wind was jerking the hood of her cloak, snowflakes stinging her face. Alarmed, she felt blood filling her left boot, the large cut on her thigh deeper than she initially assumed.

Cold and weakened as she was, she could never climb back. Her only hope was to continue in the same direction as her companions, trusting that they would find a way to go down to the narrow valley she was plodding through.

The cold was overpowering her. She shook her head to fight the drowsiness, but her eyes closed, and she staggered. One of her knees sinking into the snow, she toppled over and sagged. The cold enveloped her, biting the palms, the cheeks, crawling between the furs of the garments.

Suddenly she felt much warmer, almost cozy, and panic flared in her mind. 'Get up, get up, you are losing consciousness,' a voice was ringing in your head. 'That is how people die in the cold, they fall asleep and never wake up.' Wren did not recognise the voice, muffled and low, indubitably male. She waved it off dismissively.

'Just a few more minutes, it is so warm here,' she wanted to say, she was snug and comfortable. It felt as if she was under her covers, in her bed, or perhaps not even in it, since her blanket was thin and scratchy, and now she felt as if under opulent furs, and soft covers, and feather comforters, and her lashes fluttered and through her half lidded eyes she saw some strange canopy above her, she had never seen anything of the kind, the bedposts looked like branches of a tree, and the bed felt wide and worthy of a king…

"Get up!" Suddenly the same male voice yelled into her ear, and she jerked.

"Well, that is just rude," she mumbled, "I do not have to start my morning just yet, and the bath is not ready yet… I can stay here some more, maybe my King wants to join me," she purred flirtily and stretched her hand to her right, searching for the body of her husband, but there was no King near her, and could never be, there was just snow, and ice, and the sharp snow crub stinging her injured palm.

Wren clenched her jaws, tensed all muscles, and gathering her will she dragged herself out of the stupour. She told herself that getting up would be the hardest part, after that it would get better, just a few first steps. The hypnotic lethargy of the cold still calling for her, she decisively sank her nails into the cut on the palm. Pain somewhat cleared her mind, and she pushed herself up. Just a few steps…

* * *

**A/N: The chapter corresponds with chapter "Fili" in **_**Thorin's Company, **_**but as we all know this time the Golden Prince of Erebor won't come to her rescue...**


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: Thank you, my beloved readers, for all your reviews. I checked my page on the bus on the way from work, saw all your kind feedback and wrote this chapter in fifteen minutes on a paper bag with my eyeliner. **

**You cannot imagine how grateful I am to you for being so generous and going with me on this adventure. **

**Love you all. **

**Ardently. **

**K.**

* * *

It felt as if she had been walking for hours, but she knew that it must have been no more than one. She was certain of it, as she knew that considering the speed of her blood loss and the lightheadedness that was settling in, she could not have persevered for longer than an hour. It had been snowing in white sheets so thick around her that she was doubting whether she was still walking the same way, but the wind kept on pushing her in her back, and she was hoping it had not changed its direction and she was not circling the same spot in the valley. The rock to her left was still just a vertical wall, there was no opportunity for her companions to go down to her. The drifts under her feet were growing faster and faster, and the snow was now reaching her mid-thigh.

She had stopped feeling the pain, in the left thigh, where the deep long gush was still oozing blood, she could sometimes still guess the warm trickle into her boot, the right palm, which she was pressing her nails into again and again, had frozen, the bandage she made out of her scarf was now a crusty gauntlet. The world was swaying and swimming before her eyes, the white, and the black dots dancing in her vision, and then she swayed and fell on one knee.

She suddenly wanted to give up. It suddenly seemed so easy, such a simple decision, just sit for a bit, let the snow cover her, like a blanket, to wrap her in its white warmth, like in a cozy safe bed that she had never slept in. When she was a child, she slept first on a narrow hard cot in her grandmother's house, then in her parents' house in the attic, on a lumpy mattress on the floor, then there had been countless inns and ground of the camps, and then the inn in Dale, with the draft from under the door, and the worn out blanket, and she would just lie down now, and close her eyes, and she would be as cozy as she had never been in her life.

She could not. With all possible clarity she knew she would not, she would get up now and try to walk more, because if she did not, she would be covered in the matter of minutes, and if anyone was looking for her they would simply pass by without noticing her. She could not, because were she to sleep now, she could not be certain she would dream. Were she to die, what would happen to the King in her dreams?

Perhaps, that was the purpose, some soft voice of doubt whispered in her mind. Perhaps, that was how it were to transpire, perhaps, that was the price. She would die, and he would pass on. Perhaps, she was no saviour, no aid, perhaps, she was the obstacle, the anchor not allowing him to pass on… Perhaps, she was the burden…

'Get up!' The voice, the same low confident voice echoed in her mind, and she jerked. 'Stand up. If you cannot walk, at least stand up. You can do it, just a few more steps...'

If she were not that cold, she would cry now.

"I cannot," she mumbled, "I am sorry, but I am so tired… I am hurt, and tired, and so very cold..."

'What if he stays in that hall forever?' The voice asked, and she felt impatience growing in it. She shortly wondered why while hearing it in her muddled mind, she kept on answering outloud. Perhaps she was getting tired of the howling of the wind and the menacing roar of the mountains.

"We do not know that..."

'We do not know the opposite either...' The voice argued, and she shortly wondered whether she was mad to have a dispute with an unfamiliar male voice in her head. 'Get up, Wren of Enedwaith, Zunshel, Zundushinh, Usafat, get up and fight!' She did. Swaying and coughing, feeling nausea rising from the effort, she got up and felt like quipping, but there was no strength. "Just a few steps, amad, just a few steps..."

"What are these names?" She exhaled slowly and moved one foot ahead. It felt like her boots were full of lead but the limb obeyed. Her whole body was quaking, but she pushed herself again, and moved the second foot. And then she realised there was no voice. "Where are you?" She made another step and waited for the answer, but it never came. The wind hollered, and it sounded like an avalanche moved somewhere far behind her, but no voice. She was decisively and utterly alone.

* * *

She walked some more, the only emotion left in her was the surprise that her body was still moving, and then her mind whirled, and the strangest of sensations flooded her.

She knew where she was, she was treading the snow at the steps of the Misty Mountains, she was wrapped in her Elven travel attire and the opulent Dwarven cloak, she was wounded, there were broken ribs, there was a cut on her thigh, the ankle was twisted, and perhaps she had sustained a blow to the head, she was starting to think the strangle pulling at her skin on the left of her face was the blood freezing after trickling from a cut on her temple. And at the same time she was walking the halls of Erebor.

Her mind doubled, and while she was making slow painful steps in the snow, her hands stretched in front of her, she could see nothing but the soft white of the blizzard. But she could also see the halls and passages in front of her, empty, spiderwebs and grey thick dust hanging in the air.

She felt the cold air of the Mountains burning her lungs, and at the same time her throat was scratchy from the arenaceous air of the chambers, which seemed abandoned and unlived for decades. She knew there was her healer's robe on her, as always before in her dreams, her hair scattered on her shoulders, her feet bare.

She could feel the weight of her boots, the right one full of her blood from the wound, the leather crispy from snow and cold, and at the same time her soles were sinking in the soft dust on the stone floor.

She staggered, her eyes wide open, she tried to keep to the same direction, and at the same time she was walking through halls and rooms, her path winding between them, she would turn in narrow passages, push doors, enter and leave large chambers.

Erebor was deserted, empty, dead. It looked abandoned in haste, papers scattered on the floor, furniture toppled, suffocating stale air… There was some appalling stench in the air, also as if faded, just an undertone, weak, but enough to make her cringe.

She recognised the passages, she had walked them that very first day in Erebor, and here it was. The Hall where she would find either a dead Dwarven King or his armour displayed in the memory of his glorious victory…

Wren pressed her palms into the doors and pushed.

* * *

The doors did not move.

She pushed again, this time with the whole weight of her body, but the doors remained immobile. She shifted away from them and then slammed both her palms into them. She knew not why but she was certain she needed to come in. The doors did not give in, and sudden panic flooded her.

"Thorin!" She screamed, surprised by the strength of her own voice, and by the understanding that Wren in the Mountains was screaming too. "Thorin!" She did not know whether he was there, but it seemed even just his name was giving her strength. She pressed harder, bending her arms in the elbows, digging her feet into the stone floor. "Thorin!"

"Wren..." His voice, and it was him, came from behind the door, but it was muffled, as if there were halls and halls between them, and she banged her fists into the treacherous doors.

"Thorin! I am here! Thorin!" She slammed her fists again and again into the heavy leaves, again and again, screaming his name, fighting something she did know the name for, and Wren in the Mountains was frozen in the middle of the snow covered valley, blizzard raging around her, the name of the dead King rolling between the stone walls of the Misty Mountains.

"Wren..." His voice seemed louder now, but perhaps she was just imagining it, her heart thrashing and calling for him, and then a gush of wind cut her under her knees, and she toppled into the snow.

"Thorin..." She jerked, trying to press her hands into the snow to rise, but they sank deeper, and suddenly her eyes and mouth were full of snow, and she sobbed. She was so tired of fighting… So tired, so cold...

* * *

"Wren!" This time her name was clear and loud, and she whimpered, at first imagining for a moment it was his voice, but instantly realising it was not. "Wren!" Echo bounced between the rocks, the man calling her somewhere close, and she tried to rise again, but there was no strength left, and she sobbed and lifted her head.

"I am here!.." She wanted it to be a shout, but only a whisper came. And yet it was enough.

"Wren, I see you!" He was getting closer now, she could not see, the snow blinded her, but suddenly he was near her, his hands were strong, and he pulled her out of the drift. "It is alright, I got you, I got you..." He picked her up, first under her arms, and then she felt he lifted her, the snow that had been suffocating her released her, and she took a deep breath in.

"It is alright, Wren, I will take you to safety… Just hold on, alright?" His voice was warm, clear, human, alive, so alive… She could not open her eyes, but she felt she did not have to. He was walking now, carrying her, his steps steady and wide, and they were rocking her to sleep. "Wren, stay with me… Try to stay awake..." She could not, and her mind slipped into oblivion.

* * *

She was swimming in some daze, half slumber, half pain, she knew not how much time passed, and whether where she was time even existed, and then voice reached her, as if through a veil.

"Put her on the bed… bring hot water… she is still fighting… what a brave bunny..." The voice was raspy, unfamiliar, almost an animal growl, some strange lilt to it… The Northerners, the Woodmen of Anduin spoke thusly, her mind quickly supplied her with an answer… Beornings…

"Found her in a drift… Surprised how far she walked..." This one she knew, that was the man who pulled her out of the snow.

"How did you know where?..." Dwalin, it was Dwalin asking, and she felt fierce gratitude for hearing him. He was alive, he was near… If only she could be certain, it was true… Erebor seemed true as well, Thorin did too… Thorin always felt true…

"Years of service, Master Dwarf," her saviour answered, his tone almost merry, and she wondered whether he had warm eyes. He sounded like a man whose eyes would smile.

"More fire... she is still..." The first, beast like voice ordered, she felt being moved, probably closer to the fire, her skin was starting to burn, and she moaned trying to move away. She did not want the sensation to return, she was so very cold, but warmth meant pain... She wanted to stay numb…

"You could have done a better job, Master Dwarf… She is not much of a burden, carrying her was a trifle..." The man with probably smiling eyes spoke, and she felt a warm hand brush hair off her face. There was life and strength in the fingers that stroked her skin. "Such a delicate pale flower… Like those small flowers on the hills of my home… Alfirin… Alfirin is their name..."


	31. Chapter 31

Dreams came, vague, full of pain and fear, but blurry, common, just like the ones she had had before she came to Dale, some old troubles, half forgotten offences, injuries from before... There was a lot of snow and cold as well, she perhaps was still fighting the frostbite, and then the dreams changed, to heat and agony, she was running a fever now, her body on fire… And around and around, through the ever repeating circle of pain, cold and fire, and she saw familiar faces, the people who called themselves her parents, the boys who tormented her as a child using the shared blood as an excuse, her grandmother with her white unseeing eyes. Thea was there too, but briefly, constantly escaping, leaving Wren behind, and then Wren would see the doors to the Observance Hall, but she knew this time that it was nothing but the phantom in her mind, which was fighting the delirium. And again, the doors would not open for her even in her own dreams, and she would press her hands to them again, crying and begging, or raging, banging her fists to them, but she would not be allowed entrance... He would not be there, there would be just her memories, distorted by the pyrexia tearing at her body, but she would agree even on a shadow... Even a glimpse, just a vague memory...

And then it seemed some relief came, slowly, grudgingly, and sleep became peaceful, and she was finally able to shift, to move, and find a comfortable position, and finally rest…

* * *

Wren opened her eyes, the room was dimmed, by the curtains on a window somewhere to her right, and she blinked several times, getting accustomed to the wakeful state, and then she saw a man sitting in an armchair by the wall. She had never seen a man that large in her life, but then again, she quickly understood, he was no man at all. Beorn, the Skinchanger, focused his strange yellow eyes on her, under the bushy eyebrows, and his wide mouth twitched in a small smile.

"Awake, little stoat?" He moved, and a large clay bowl was pressed to her lips. She drank, the first sip of the aromatic herbal drink scratched her throat, but then it was easier to drink.

"Stoat?" She asked raspily, and he chuckled.

"First I thought you more of a bunny, like Mister Baggins from the Shire, and in the company of Dwarves once again, but then you turned out quite fast and fierce… Quite a little hunter you are. Almost scratched out the eyes of your saviour in your burning, you did." He was looking at her with smiling eyes.

"I apologise..." She breathed out, and he patted her hand on the covers.

"Not me, little stoat. I just provided the roof over your head and a few twigs to warm you up. The Gondorian that brought you here, sent by the wizard… I finally sent him to sleep, it has been four nights. You gave us quite a scare. The Dwarves have been smoking on my porch in worry so much that it looked as if I had two chimneys."

The door to the side creaked, and Wren turned her head sharply. The world swam, from her weakness, and only a few instants after her eyes grew accustomed to the new view, and she realised that a woman came into the room.

"Frightening our guest with your growling, old man?" She had a low and confident voice, and then she stepped closer. Large, stout, with strong beautiful round shoulders, long arms and an astonishing mane of dark brown hair, braided around her head, with a scarf pinned to it, she was taller than most men of Dale, and Wren realised she was from the Woodmen of the Anduin Valleys. She wore a simple brown dress, pristine apron over it, and she was carrying a pile of clean laundry. Wren's nose caught the wonderful scent of bedding that dried outside. "Shoo, beast, let a woman do the job no man can." The Skinchanger gave her a toothy grin, got up and walked out of the room, not without a look over his shoulder. Wren noticed the pride and affection in his eyes, and the flirty little smirk the woman gave him.

"I am Martha, the mistress of the house," the woman said and leaned down, her strong fingers running on the bandages on Wren's right hand. "Your hand, both ankles, and the cut on the thigh should heal soon, the ribs will bother you for a while, but you are quite a fighter, honourable maiden." Wren smiled to her uncertainly. The woman had most beautiful grey eyes, the colour of them cold, but the expression warm and as if perpetually amused. "The blow to the head was worrying me most, I have to say. You were burning and screaming for three days, we could not believe where all the strength came." Wren would have blushed if it did not feel like there was no blood running in her veins anymore. The woman gave her a look over and with a promise of a mug of hot broth she left. But not before she asked cheekily, "Would you like me to send the Gondorian and the Dwarves your way, or want a warm bath first?" Wren as much as whimpered at the thought of sinking into a warm bath. The one called Martha apparently did not require an answer and laughed, "I will see to the hot water then."

After some soup, root vegetables and herbs having given it the most delicious of aromas and flavours, and a quick wash with the help of the mistress of the house, Wren was put back into bed, the sheets had been already changed, and she suddenly felt so sleepy and cozy that she just could not keep her eyes open. She was still mumbling the words of gratitude, which Martha dismissively waved off saying 'you are no bother, it is like feeding and bathing a tot,' but then Wren's mind slipped into darkness, the comb in Martha's hand running through Wren's orange springs being the last sensation.

* * *

She woke up again, it was an early morning perhaps, she saw cold dreary light streaming through the gap between the curtains on the widow, when she noticed a man sleeping in an armchair where the Skinchanger sat last time.

Wren gave him a studying look and understood it was the Gondorian the hosts of the house talked about. He was obviously very tall, the long legs were stretched in the middle of the room, even though everything in the chamber seemed giant to Wren. He was dressed in green and brown, well-cut travel attire, without crests or emblems. His head was dropped awkwardly to the side, wavy chestnut hair scattered on his wide shoulders, long lashes lay under his eyes in fluffy shadows, and in the unreliable light of the Winter dawn Wren saw high cheekbones, long prominent nose with noble, elegant bridge, and masculine, well defined lips, the bottom one full. Some strange foreboding clenched around her heart, and her eyes would not stop roaming his features, chiseled jaw and chin, strong but refined lines, and then suddenly the dark brilliant eyes flew open.

"If I did not know better, I would assume you are enjoying my looks, honourable healer," the voice was fruity, with a strong Northern accent, with lilt of laughter rolling in it, and Wren's eyes widened. "That is if I did not know whose name you are screaming in your fever, Wren of Enedwaith."

Wren felt instantly mortified. How much had she disclosed in her delirium? Judging by the laughing eyes of the Gondorian, who was now straightening in his chair and stretching his back, with obvious pleasure flexing his muscles and tendons, there had been hardly much she had not divulged.

The next emotion that flooded her was indignation. Her privacy was violated, she was in no control over her words in her fever, and an honourable man would not abuse it. She pressed her lips and looked at him frowning.

"Oh, if the looks could kill," he barked a warm laugh and got up. She was right, he was indeed very tall, graceful in his lean build, though shoulders were wide, and it was clear how much strength resided in that body. "I am Amrod, son of Mablung, honourable healer," he was standing over her bed now, watching her, and then bestowed her with a low ceremonious bow. "At your eternal service." Wren mind worked quickly.

"You are a captain of Rangers of Ithilien! Gandalf the Grey mentioned you in his letter. He said you are a man of honour and can be trusted." Another bout of his merry open laughter ensued.

"I am flattered by the evaluation, honourable healer, though how much can one trust a judgement of a wizard?" He gave her wink and sat on the edge of her bed. Her body jolted from such familiarity, she opened her mouth to rebuke him, when he opened his palm and she saw a small flower on it.

"It is December! Where would you find one at this time of year?" She picked it up from his narrow long-fingered hand and twirled a gentle blossom of an oxeye daisy. "The last one this year perhaps..."

"There is always spring, Alfirin," his voice was tender, and she lifted her eyes and met his. Suddenly some intense emotion splashed in them, his face wavered, and he spoke in a slightly raspy voice, "There is something you have to know, Alfirin..."

And before she could ask him of the moniker he had given her, she heard a decisive knock at the door, and it immediately opened. Dwalin's bald head stuck in, and then he was quite clearly pushed in by Bofur, who was following him.

"Lass, the mistress said you were awake..." Bofur started and then froze with his jaw slacked. Wren imagined what it looked like, a man sitting on her bed, their hands as if touching over the flower she was holding, he was leaning close to her face, and she winced away from him.

"Gondorian," Dwalin grumbled at Amrod, son of Mablung, giving him a glare. Wren suddenly thought that indeed if looks could kill, the Gondorian's unbreathing corpse would hit the floor at that very instant. She saw Amrod's features grow disdainful and mocking in front of her eyes, and he turned to the Dwarves.

"Master Dwalin, as you can see I am once again intruding on your territory and hog your charge." His tone was sarcastic, and Wren understood it was a continuation of some existing quibble.

"What I see is a lippy Gondorian somewhere he is not supposed to be," Dwalin grumbled under his breath, making sure everyone heard him, to which the Gondorian answered with more of his buoyant laughter.

Amrod then stood up and smiled to Wren warmly. "We shall speak later, Alfirin, have rest," he gave her another of his decorous bows and left the room, nodding to both Dwarves. Bofur snorted, while Dwalin was mumbling something in Khuzdul.

* * *

Dwalin took a place by the window, his arms folded on his chest, his back to the room. His eyes were glued to the window, brow frowned, while Bofur looked over Wren and asked of her health. She reassured him she was feeling much better, and then she saw Bofur throw an uncertain look at his companion's back.

"Master Dwarf," Wren sighed and decided it would be easier just to breach the uncomfortable subject the Dwarves in the room were quite obviously trying to approach. "Is there something you would like to ask me?"

"You spoke, honourable healer," Bofur locked his hands in front of him, his elbows on the knees, his feet not reaching the floor once again. Wren was reminded of how he sat in Mirkwood. Except, this time there was much more worry and, to her astonishment, more trust in his bright hazel eyes. "In Khuzdul, mostly. You were screaming and calling..." He paused, clearly uncertain how to go on.

"Thorin, you were calling Thorin," Dwalin finished for him and turned sharply to her. She realised what she initially mistook for irritation was in actuality awe, hiding in his irises. "What you spoke… The things you said… Very few knew of him. And in Khuzdul no less."

"I do not speak the language!" Wren exclaimed, her eyes darting between them, and they once again exchanged looks.

"You spoke it in your fever, lass," Bofur shook his head, "And not the way an outsider, who learnt it, would. Like a Dwarf. And forgive us, but you were rather talkative..." Wren felt blood rushing away from her face. "And in Common speech too..." Bofur suddenly gave her an impish look. "Were Thorin alive, he would have been mighty embarrassed right now..."

"Oh no..." Wren pressed her hands to her face, hiding it.

"It felt like he was in your head, all of him," Bofur said, "Forgive us, we did not believe you. We could not, but now we know… He indeed lives in your dreams."


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N: Since several of you asked for Thorin (why wouldn't you? :D), and the story flow allowed him to show up only in Chapter 33, I'm posting 32 and 33 together tonight, they were written in one sitting and three cups of Earl Grey :D**

**PLEASE, if you feel like leaving a review, leave a review for each chapter *shy battering of lashes* Please? :) **

**I really appreciate the feedback, my darlings. What do you think of Amrod? What do you think of Martha? (She is a new OC, and I want to know how she reads.) **

* * *

Days passed one by one, Wren was healing, the Dwarves and the ponies ate plentifully preparing for the road, while the host and the hostess were busy readying for Winter, and the former Ranger of Ithilien, was doing neither. Wren had quickly realised that Amrod had abandoned his service for some, known only to him reasons, and now he spent his days assisting Chief Beorn in his errands, sharing his clearly extensive previous military experience, and at the same time Wren could often see him helping Martha around the house, sometimes chopping wood, he would take a smaller ax than the host, sometimes carrying water from a well. Wren would sit by the window, watching him and performing her tasks. She was ordered to have rest and only allowed to sort herbs and perform other little tasks while in an armchair under a thick quilt. Though Wren would normally insist on being capable of more, she was feeling some strange apathy and debilitation these days, even though her injuries were healing quickly. While Dwalin and Bofur were growing impatient to set on the road again, Wren could not find in herself any desire to. She had also been feeling some sort of irritated apprehension in the expectations of another dream with the Dwarven King. She could almost imagine how smug he would be since she had managed to prove him right and hurt herself in the journey that he was opposing so ardently.

The evenings were spent mostly in separate groups, the Dwarves keeping to themselves, Wren would speak to Martha and her husband, and the Gondorian would silently smoke by the fireplace. Wren found the company of the woman most pleasant, they had a lot in common, both grew up with their grandmothers, both knew a lot about lives of women around Arda, Martha had travelled a lot with her first husband, a fur merchant, before she settled in the newly inhabited Vales of Anduin and was "kidnapped by the beast," as she would put it. Wren would giggle and watch Beorn give his wife a feigned snarl. Wren could see that the two of them were a well-matched, affectionate couple, and Wren felt safe and comfortable in their house.

Four weeks after Wren's arrival to the newly built, larger house where Beorn resided after the Battle of the Five Armies, it became clear that Martha was with child. Wren was the one to carefully ask the mistress, and thusly deliver the news to her. Martha's first husband was impotent, and she was overjoyed when Wren's suspicions were confirmed. There was a feast, many of the Woodmen leaders were invited, it lasted all night, and after the first barrel of mead the Dwarves had lost all apprehension and the Woodmen forgot theirs, and there were loud songs and a lot of armwrestling.

* * *

Wren was sitting at the back porch of the Chief's house, cuddled in furs and quilts, having escaped the noise and the smoke and the singing inside, when the door opened, and Amrod stepped out. He was dressed in his customary brown leather doublet, unbuttoned and opened this time, the soft green tunic underneath it, and he gulped lungfuls of the cold air and suddenly laughed. Wren saw red spots on his cheekbones, no doubt from the mead, but she knew by then that brew affected him little. Three nights ago the host and he consumed a small barrel of ale, and it was shared fairly, and yet the Skinchanger seemed more muddled at the end.

Amrod walked up to her and sat on the bench nearby, stretching his legs and crossing them in his habitual gesture.

"How are faring tonight, Alfirin?"

"Why 'Alfirin'?" She asked curtly, and he grinned to her.

"Because you are pale and gentle, like the flower," he dropped his head back and was watching the stars in the night sky.

"They grow on the burial mounds in Rohan, they are the flower of death." He gave her a side glance, and she saw his face grow serious.

"It does not have to be, and again, what is life without death?" They were silent for a few minutes, Wren was studying his profile, he was looking in the blackness above.

"Allow me to go to Rivendell with you, Wren," he asked and turned his head to her. "I understand you are on a quest to left to you by your dead beloved but allow me to help. The Grey Wizard told me you would explain everything when we met, but I do not require explanation. Just let me go with you." His tone was calm, eyes soft and brilliant, and she knew the brew he had drunk had nothing to do with glimmer in his dark brown irises.

"Why?" Wren whispered, wondering why she did not rush to correct his erroneous assumption that Thorin II Oakenshield was her departed beloved. Perhaps, she enjoyed hearing when he was called her 'beloved' even if thus incorrectly.

"When your journey is over, I would like to stay by your side, Alfirin. With time I believe, you will understand that it is..." He stumbled over his words and grew silent.

"It is what?" Wren straightened on her seat.

"It is best for both of us," he finished, but she was suddenly certain these were not the words he was initially to say.

"What is it that you are offering me, Amrod, son of Mablung?" Wren asked sharply, surprised herself by the irkness that she could hear in her voice. She had noticed it before, the fatigue she was feeling was making her contentious. Never before had she been so irritable in her life as she was now. She just wanted repose and be left in peace.

"I am offering you future, Alfirin," Amrod also sat up, and his dark striking eyes focused on her. "With me. As my companion. As my wife." Wren gasped and shied away from him.

"What a preposterous idea!" She exclaimed loudly, and he suddenly roared with laughter. "I do not see anything funny in your absurd jesting, honourable ranger! Why would you want to marry me?! You have known me for a moon, and even after this quest is complete… Marrying me makes no sense! Have you seen me?!" He was still laughing merrily, when she squeaked one word that seemed to contain all her befuddlement, "Why?!" She was staring at him, and he was now wiping tears off his eyes.

"Maiar help me, Alfirin, the shock on your face… I have to say that is the most entertaining response to a proposal one can expect." His eyes, the colour of strong coffee, were squinted, irises hiding behind thick long lashes.

"How much have you drunk, honourable ranger?" Wren asked, suddenly assuming she had solved this puzzle.

"Apparently enough to choose the wrong time for this conversation," he was still chuckling, and then he jumped on his feet and walked up to her briskly. He mumbled, seemingly addressing himself, "Life is short, might as well..." He knelt in front of her, she was gawking at him, and he picked up her hands.

"Alfirin, in my veins there runs the blood of the Kings of the Old, and I have a gift. I have dreams..." Wren jerked her hands out of his, but he did not allow her, grasping her fingers in his long strong digits. "I have seen you in them, since I was just a youngling, I have seen our future." Wren's head was spinning, and she wondered whether he was mad. "Wren, I have waited for this meeting through all these years. I have been waiting for you. I have loved you all these years."

Wren made a small frustrated sound and pulled her hands out of his. Panic was flooding her, she felt so exhausted and anxious these days that she could not summon enough strength to find any answer in herself. Amrod was studying her face, and then he cupped her jaw with his hands. They were warm and calloused, and she was starting to shake.

"I know little about you yet, Alfirin. But what you screamed in your fever… Of your love to the Dwarven King, of carrying some burden, of a task he bestowed you with… I know he fell in the Battle of the Five Armies, and I know you are finishing some matter he had not. I honour that. Allow me to help, and only then I will speak of my dreams. Allow me to be your companion, and aid you, and once your journey is over, I will try to convince you." His tone was cordial, eyes candid, and all Wren could do was to nod shortly. Amrod smiled to her, and it seemed he was going to get up from his knees, when he paused and then leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.

The fresh flavour of his kiss flooded her, like a sip of young cider, like the first bite into succulent flesh of an apple freshly from a branch, and she felt she had but an instant before his skillful, experienced caresses would envelop her, leaving her without will, and she pressed her palms into his shoulders and pushed. He released her immediately, and she saw his eyes, black from passion, from the pupils flooding the irises, right in front of her.

"I cannot… I cannot give you any answer now, I cannot even promise that I will have one after this journey is over…" She noticed she was mumbling, and she felt angry with herself. She needed to gather her wits, evaluate what was transpiring, wrap her mind around his words. He was studying her, and then he got up.

"We shall not speak of it until you are unfettered from your obligations," he looked down at her pensively, and then nodded to his own thoughts, "I shall start packing, we can leave as soon as in three days. I gather your companions are eager to venture back into the Mountains, but I believe this time your journey is to be safer for you," his disdainful tone scraped at Wren's mind unpleasantly, she felt acute desire to defend her travelling companions, but she kept silent. Mostly, she did not feel capable of continuing the conversation, she needed some solitude. On the other hand, she felt he knew not what he was judging, he knew nothing of her and the Khazad, and even if he were right and he was a better scout and escort than them, she found his demeanour brash and overbearing.

He quickly went inside, leaving her stunned and confused, and she spent the next two hours sitting unmoving, trying to perceive the whole depth of what he had shared with her.


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N: Did you leave a review for the previous chapter? ;)**

**A/N#2: Important note: Since this story is T rated and is written with understanding that not everyone is comfortable with and seeking M rated content, a companion story will be posted on my page, containing... well, put simply, smut :) I'll keep you posted, my duckies, but something tells me you will guess when it is time to go look for it ;)**

* * *

The next day the male dwellers of the house spent drinking pickle juice, complaining of headaches and nausea, and nothing was done in the house, except Martha was moving in the kitchen, banging pots and kettles, as Wren suspected, all this noise was quite vindictively purposeful, and Wren entered and quietly sat in the corner. Martha gave her a merry look and placed a large pot with vegetables in front of her. Wren silently picked up a knife and started peeling.

"So, has the Gondorian spoken finally?" Martha asked stirring her stew, and only years of performing surgeries saved Wren from slicing her palm. She looked at Martha and met her astute, amused eyes.

"Aye, he did," Wren answered with a sigh and concentrated on the parsnip in her hands.

"About time that was," Martha shook her head, "Your Dwarf friends were getting restless. Pity you are leaving though, I grew fond of the jolly one," the mistress of the house chuckled, and Wren smiled. Martha was indeed very amicable towards Bofur, treating him like a younger brother, while he would entertain her on his flute and make her laugh with his frolics until tears would run out of her eyes. "I will miss the Gondorian as well, a merry fellow. I know the Grey Wizard trusts him, and my husband is a good judge of character. I would trust the Gondorian with my life and even this one," she affectionately stroked her still flat stomach, "He is a good soldier and loyal for that matter, but in the matters of heart..." Wren pretended to be very concerned with the trail a worm left in the vegetable. "Was your Dwarf the one my husband knew from the war?" Martha asked softly, and unlike in her conversation with Amrod, Wren felt that not sharing the truth with the woman would be just as deceitful as claiming that she was as much as the widow of Thorin Oakenshield. Wren put the knife aside and met Martha's eyes.

"My Dwarf… He has never been mine." She chewed on her bottom lip and tried to find the right words. "He bestowed me with a task, and I would have done it, even if I had not..." Her throat constricted, and she heard a sympathetic small sound from Martha. "If I had not fallen in love with him. It happened later, it is just… my foolishness. But yes, Thorin Oakenshield had met your husband before the Battle of the Five Armies." Martha nodded, and wiping her large hands she sat on a chair in front of Wren.

"So your heart is free then, is it not? Or was there someone in Dale?" Wren dropped her eyes. "Some nice fellow?"

"No, Martha, there was no one. And thank you for asking, but I see you do not understand. The skinny birds such as myself are no treat there either, just as I am certain your kinmen would find me unappealing." Martha snorted derisively.

"There are smart men in any city, little stoat. So, think of it, perhaps there was someone in Dale who was looking but you thought he was looking elsewhere?"

"Well, there was a man, but I was no match for him, and again it were his daughters who wanted him to notice me." Martha listened attentively. "Perhaps, it even could have happened..." Wren thought back at her conversation with King Bard in his study, how warm the expression in his eyes had been. She was stricken by how long ago it felt it had happened, as if years had passed. She seemed to have a more sober look at the events now, and she also remembered the words of the Elvenking. Indeed, her strange inquiries made the King of Dale notice her among the crowd, and indeed his daughters took such interest in her because she had been the first unattached woman to appear in their house, but there was also some good sense in such match. He would benefit from having a practical wife with a craft in his house and his city, she could have been a good wife for him.

There was no sense in her love for the Dwarven King though… No sense, no reason, no future…

Wren realised she had been staring into nothing for a few moments, and she shook her head returning her thoughts on the matters of now. Martha was waiting for her to continue, and Wren sighed again.

"I have my journey, Martha. Once it is over, I will think of it." Wren picked up the knife and went back to her tubers.

"Will the Gondorian wait that long?" Martha asked, and Wren exhaled feeling almost irritated by the woman's insistence.

"He said he would, but I do not see why it matters. I have not even thought of him in such way..." Wren stubbornly poked a root, and Martha suddenly barked a short laugh.

"I might be a married woman, little stoat, but I have eyes. He is a fine one, and does not look like he will give up any time soon."

"He does not know me!" Wren stabbed another parsnip, immediately feeling embarrassed by her outburst.

"Men do not need to know us, they pick in a minute and stubbornly stick with their choice. Most will not know you till the day you die surrounded by your grandchildren either, little stoat." Marth covered Wren's hands with hers, stopping Wren's knife. The eyes of the two women met. "You know what my Grandmother always said? Choose a man as you choose shoes. Do not buy good ones, buy those that fit." Wren suddenly felt tears rolling onto her eyes, and her lips trembled.

She realised she had been making a decision after another, again and again, and yet every time all she seemed to be doing was giving up one good choice after another. Staying in Dale, getting married, continuing with her service was safe and would make her life rewarding and predictable, staying in Mirkwood would fulfill so many of her dreams, and even just one glimpse into her future with Amrod, as astounded as she had been by his sudden confession after the feast, even a thought of giving him a chance, once her quest completed, was thrilling. Martha was right, he was loyal and strong and she remembered the intoxicating sweetness and heat of his kiss. She did not believe in destiny, but he obviously did, and perhaps his certainty would be enough for both of them.

If she succeeded, if Lord Elrond had answers for her, and if she had strength enough to fulfill her task, she would be free again, free to choose a life she wanted… And yet, Wren thought, she did not want either of them…

She had not noticed the hot streaks of tears on her cheeks, until Martha wiped them off with her handkerchief.

"I heard your fevered crying, little stoat, and my heart was bleeding for you," the woman pulled Wren into a tight embrace, and Wren allowed her, letting the weariness settle in her. She would allow herself one moment of weakness, they were to be on the road soon. "Such a little heart, so much love in it. And for a dead man... And for what? Nothing but pain will come from this fire inside you, little stoat. It will burn and devour you, and nothing will be left. I loved my first husband," Marth slightly moved away from Wren and gave her a sad look, "He did not give me home, always on the road, travelling with his furs. He did not give me children. And yet I loved him. Nothing but pain came of it, and then he went to the Halls of Awaiting… How I cried, Wren, how much I hurt..." She mournfully shook her head, her eyes full of tears.

"So what am I to do?" Wren did not know why she asked, but suddenly she felt so very lost. Martha looked at her sadly and stroked her hair like that of a child.

"Choose a man who is strong and who will give you want you crave. If it is children, choose the one who will father them. If it is safety, choose the one who is good with a sword. If it is loyalty, choose the one with a loyal heart. And pick a capable one, not old, not weak, so he lives with you for long. Choose the shoes that fit, little stoat."

Wren sat, a large calloused hand of the Skinchanger's wife was running down her braided curls, and she lowered her head and then nodded hardly noticeably. Only a fool would not listen to such advice.

* * *

Three days later the proper preparation for the journey started, provision was being packed, Amrod and Dwalin kept on arguing over each object, each sack, each waterskin, while Wren and Bofur wisely decided to stay away from the disputes. There was an obvious struggle for leadership in their little company, and neither Wren, nor Bofur wanted to be asked to cast a vote.

After another dinner, which consisted of Bofur, Martha and Beorn exchanging funny and unbelievable anecdotes, Dwalin eating with an irked expression on his face, and the Gondorian watching Wren, she suddenly felt suffocated in the middle of the meal and excused herself, explaining it by the exhaustion after the day of packing. She quickly shook off her Elven attire and climbed under the thick heavy blanket on her temporary bed.

She would miss the comfort of the Skinchanger's home, she understood, though everything in it was twice as tall as it would be comfortable for her, she had gotten used to the soft bed and abundant food. The strange indifference she had been feeling lately was also aggravated by her seeming inability to remember what she was on this quest for in the first place. Wren closed her eyes and settled in the warmth of her bed.

* * *

_Ra nî lomil tamhari, akhsigabi azâgê... / And if the night is burning, I will cover my eyes..._

* * *

She found herself once again in front of the doors, and for a second she wondered what would happen were she to turn away from them. And then she sighed, still feeling the same petty annoyance she fell asleep feeling, and pressed her hands into the leaves of the doors.

The Dwarven King stood several steps away from the entrance, his face calm, but eyes blazing. In an instant Wren as if noticed every little detail, the familiar soft garb, the heavy silk of the ebony strands, the gleam of silver in it. His lips twitched, and she suddenly realised the astounding yet utterly certain truth that few if any could read his subdued expressions as well as her. His brows rose, in an almost unnoticeable gesture, and the line of his lips softened, he had not moved, and she stood by the doors. He was much as a statue of himself, and yet she could feel his exuberant joy of seeing her as if he had shouted of it outloud. And although so much had raced through her mind, hardly an instant passed between her opening the doors and her rushing towards him.

She made one step, with the second one she was already running, her heart made one beat somewhere in her throat, and then her body slammed into his. She threw her arms around his neck, pressing into him, his scorching palms lay in the perfect gesture on the back of her head and on her shoulder blades, and she breathed out his name. He was silent, crushing her into him, and if she could move any closer to him, she would, but there was no room between them, their bodies fitting together, hearts beating frantically and in unison. She was, Wren understood with all possible conviction, where she belonged.


	34. Chapter 34

"Wren, are you safe?" She nodded, still pressing into him, and she felt his chest rise in a relieved deep inhale. "Where are you now? What is..?" She did not let him finish, she pulled herself out of his embrace and met his glacial eyes. He seemed so beautiful to her at that piercing moment, his gaze open and emotional, lips slightly parted, and she grabbed his ears and pressed her mouth to his.

Love flooded her, and passion, and tenderness, and she just wanted to touch and feel, and forget that it was just a dream, and that she would have to wake up, and march through the snow covered mountains for no other reason but to find a way to surrender the person she yearned for with all her heart and all her soul. The bliss from tasting him, from inhaling the fresh smell of his skin, from the warmth coming off his body, was blending in her with the acute and devastating pain from the fleeting nature of this moment. He was but a ghost, and never to be hers, even if she ever were audacious enough to hope for it… He was but a dream…

The King froze under her unrestricted caress, probably astounded and even taken aback, and her arms fell limp along her body. She was behaving inconceivably, but she had been aching for him so... She had expected him to be bewildered by such opprobrium of course and had half a thought to beg forgiveness. She had closed her eyes and started moving away from him, when suddenly the crushing ring of his arms went around her shoulders, and he rushed into the buss. She immediately forgot her abashment over the impropriety of her behaviour, since his kisses were times more indecent. She made a surprised hum as he apparently had learnt his lesson last time, and now it was his tongue pushing her lips open, and then his hand clenched on her shoulder blades, gathering fistful of the healer's robe. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, she swayed, her knees weakening, and then she felt his tongue run her lips, and then his teeth grazed her bottom lip in a sensual caress. A shudder ran through her body, and she moaned into his mouth. The moment of weakness passed, and she charged into the responding attack on his lips.

Her hands were wandering, she ran her palms over his wide shoulders, and upper arms, feeling scorching solid muscles underneath, and then she splayed her hands on his chest. She could feel the coarse chest hair under the thin tunic, and a wave of heat licked her nape, hunger and most daring carnal desires flooding her mind. At the same time, with the mixture of pleasure and some merry astonishment she realised that the Dwarven King was not above rather forward exploration himself, and then his palms lay on her buttocks, she gasped into a kiss, and he chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. She moved away from him and gaped at him. Her shock was apparently written all over her face, since he guffawed and leaning close to her face he whispered, "I am only returning the favour, zunshel."

"You are not, my King," she murmured, feeling as if inebriated and uncharacteristically cheeky, "You would be if I had done this..." She pushed her palms down his back, savouring the sensation of feeling the long warm muscles along his spine, and her palms stopped just a few inches below his waist. That was where her brass ran out, but apparently it sufficed. His eyes widened, and he caught her mouth again.

They were moving, touching, delighting in the closeness and starving for more, drinking each other like the sweetest of meads, and she realised she was taking steps back, pulling him after her, although there was nowhere to go, and as roused and enamoured as she was feeling, she still would not even dare to even consider where their actions could lead, when a low table in the middle of the hall, maps scattered on it, bumped into the backs of her thighs, and she made an unhappy sound.

And the next instant, a surprised croak like noise fell off her lips, when the King Under the Mountain picked her up under her arms and placed her on the aforementioned table. She could not tell after whether it was she who opened her knees for him, or he pushed them apart, but there he was, pressing into her, his hands in her hair, and another lustful moan fell from her lips.

And then some loud hiss reached her hearing, and she pressed her hands into his shoulders and attempted to halt him. The displeased noise he made could only be described a growl, but then he paused, as if bracing himself, and moved away from her lips.

Wren opened her eyes, and it took her a few instants of frantic blinking to at least partially clear the daze fogging her mind and understand the changes around her. The lights in the hall were dimmed, the hiss she had heard were candles dying out, and then a soft creak came from the door behind her. It was the door she previously tried to pass through, which only led to her returning through the entrance.

She whipped her head, the King looked as well, and suddenly understanding came. It was so simple that she just could not gather how she had not guessed it before! Wren giggled, and then again, and soon she was shaking from laughter. The King cocked one brow and gave her a rather suspicious look.

"What is it, zunshel?" There was a slight apprehension hidden in his tone, he perhaps thought she was laughing at him, and she leaned in and brushed her lips on his.

"I was feeling rather uneasy last time, after I thought we had been watched and I had been sent away from here… But I understand it now..." The thick black brow crawled even higher, and Wren giggled, mostly at herself, for ogling him and feeling so completely smitten, but she could not help it. Every little detail about him seemed so enticing to her! "There is no force controlling the Hall… It is me."

"Pardon?" He frowned not understanding. She nodded to her own thoughts, and then feeling even more flirtatious she lifted her hand and ran the tips of her fingers along his eyebrow.

"The Hall is me. My mind… The more I think of you, the more objects appear, the more comfort my mind tries to provide you with, the more time you spend here. If I do not say proper goodbye, you stay longer. I have been so foolish, not to understand it before!" She laughed again. "When King Thranduil awakened me, my mind stayed with you and you had to endure those hours here… I am sorry..." She gave him a sympathetic look. He was pondering her words.

"Last time after you left I finished cleaning the blades, and then it was done..."

"Did you want to finish cleaning the blades?" She asked, and he smirked slightly.

"It always helps me calm my mind." She smiled to him.

"That is why you were given time for it. And then there was the harp… And the books..."

"Those are for you, zunshel, I hardly have any interest in the herbal essences of the Gondor plants, do I?" He asked impishly, his eyes gleaming with a smile, and she snorted.

"It is my mind after all, my lord, and I do think everyone should read about herbal essences of the Gondor plants," she realised they were bantering and flirting, and she laughed happily.

"Though, I have come here a few hours ago today. It was rather odd, zunshel. I thought I heard your voice behind the doors, you were calling me but as if from afar. I answered, but then it was quiet, and I just waited..." He was now speaking distractedly, his eyes on her lips again, but she did not let him veer her from her thinking. She remembered that she did call him when lost in the snows of the mountains, but it was clear now that time passed differently in this hall. What had been days for her was nothing but minutes for him.

"Zunshel..." He spoke in a low voice, leaning in, his warm breath brushed her cheek, and she focused her attention on him. "What of the door then?"

"Oh, I forgot of it," she looked at the door behind her again. "I am starting to think my mind is conjuring circumstances for us here that it deems necessary. Perhaps there is food there, I do sometimes wonder if you feel hunger here, or perhaps there are more books, or..."

"A bedchamber?" The King asked, and Wren choked on her musings. She froze, her face still turned away from him as she had been studying the crack of the door, soft, dim light streaming out of it, and then she slowly turned and met his eyes. Her cheeks were burning painfully, she felt hot and cold at the same time, mortified, astounded, and so very hopeful. She thought back at his question from an instant ago and realised his tone was calm and rather nonchalant. A myriad questions and disarrayed thoughts rushed through her mind, and she emitted a rather undignified mumble that bore no meaning. Nothing more eloquent could come out of her mouth at the moment.

He was studying her face, the expression on his unreadable, and she felt panicked. So little made sense at the moment, and her mind jumped back and forth, from trying to remember how such matters were addressed in the Dwarven customs, and what she knew of his past, to trying to understand how to even judge what she thought he was suggesting could happen between them, seeing that he was from the Khazad, a King and not to mention... deceased. She was also trying to stop herself from jumping off the table and dragging him through that very door in the hopes he had been right in his assumption. And then his face wavered, the cold mask fell, and she saw uncertainty and most endearing shyness, and he cupped her face and pressed his forehead to hers.

"Say something, zunshel. I feel like the last of dimwits with that blabber of mine..." Wren searched her mind, and surely, where would any other answer come from?

She gulped and whispered, "Let us see if there is a bedchamber there..." She felt him exhale in relief, and she whispered his name, just as she dreamt of for so long, "Thorin..."

He helped her off the table, and holding her hand he walked to the door. It did not creak when it opened, and he walked through it, leading her after him.

There was indeed a bedchamber behind it, and Wren pulled the door closed after her.

* * *

**A/N: **_**Me Together With You, **_**the M rated companion piece to this story will be posted in a matter of a few cups of Earl Grey :D Meaning I have no idea when but I'll do my best :D**

**The next chapter here will pick up right after the events taking place in the bedchamber.**

**I am planning the chapters in **_**Me Together With You**_** to describe this encounter and any other M rated ones if they are to happen later.**

* * *

**A/N#2: Those of you interested in the character of ****Amrod****:**

**He appears in **_**Thorin's Defeat**_** in Timeline #1 (my original stories about Wren and Thorin). In her fourth spring in Erebor Wren feels that Thorin's love for her has withered, and she leaves the Mountain. She meets Amrod on the road and has to make a choice between the man who is offering her a future and her loyalty towards the man she thinks loves her no more. **

**There is also **_**Life That Never Was**_**: it tells an alternative version of **_**Defeat**_** in which Wren chooses Amrod over Thorin, and the story shows how her life goes from that point and where it leads her.**

**There is also the sequel to it, **_**Life That Always Will Be**_**: it picks up several years later, and the chapters of this story are mixed with the story of Wren's children going on an adventure. This story is on hiatus at the moment, and I'm thinking I'll pick it up after **_**Me Without You **_**is done.**

* * *

**A/N#3: The thing is, I'm really feeling like writing something with ****Dain**** as the ****protagonist, especially since recently in my head he so looks like Jaime Fraser from the **_**Outlander**_** TV series :P**


	35. Chapter 35

Wren woke up, cold dreary light of Winter sun streaming through the window of the Skinchanger's house, and after stretching and yawning she nested again in the warmth under her blankets. Her eyes lazily studied the room, in actuality without seeing a single object, her thoughts on the events of her dream. She closed her eyes, recalling the features of the Dwarven King, the soft line of his lips, the satiated half smile, the smooth unworried brow… She remembered his strands scattered on the pillow of the bed in her dream, and the deep even breathing raising his chest. Wren was deceiving herself and knew of it, but she allowed herself to pretend that until she was up and out of her bed, the dream was still lingering with her. He was still near her, and she was lying with her eyes closed, listening to the fatigue in her muscles. As a healer Wren knew that mind and body were the same, the unity, if a person dreamt of exertions, and she had dreamt of plenty, the body would be tired in the morning. She was so very exhausted, and she laughed in giddy surprise. Even the muscles in her buttocks were sore, and she could just remember what of her dream activities caused this tiredness.

Wren rolled on her back and stared at the ceiling. Perhaps, she was mad, but she was thoroughly enjoying her morning after the first night with the King, and a moronic uncontrollable grin spread on her face. She was feeling very, very satisfied and, as reproachful as such emotions were, very much smug.

* * *

She went down to breakfast, humming a merry tune and skipping over steps, but upon entering the house's large kitchen she froze in the doors. The dwellers of the house sat around the table and an obvious tension was hanging above the abundant meal. For an instant Wren felt mortified, imagining that she could have again disclosed the content of her dreams, perhaps she had been loud again, and blood rushed away from her face, but considering the hasty absentminded greetings that she received and the snarl of Dwalin's face Wren realised she was not the reason of the unease in the room.

"I have to remind you again, Master Dwarf," Amrod's voice rang, and Wren saw him clenching the handle of his mug, his knuckles white, "I know the Mountains better than you. The path you have chosen previously brought you back here, and it will happen again. The only difference I might not be there to save Alfirin."

"That is not my name," Wren's voice was quiet, but something in her tone made everyone turn their heads and look at her. Her eyes were locked with the brown ones of the Ithilien ranger, and sudden realisation flooded her. "And you are not going to the Mountains with us, honourable ranger. As grateful as I am for your aid, and I understand I am forever in your debt, it is just the three of us who will continue the journey."

Deafening silence and astonished stares were the answer to her words, and she sat down and pulled a plate towards her. Wren took a deep breath in and lifted her eyes to meet Amrod's. Muscle knots danced on his jaw, and then he slowly rose and left the kitchen. From the corner of her eye Wren caught Martha shaking her head mournfully, but Wren just could not find a single doubt in her heart that she acted correctly.

* * *

After breakfast Wren went in search of Amrod and found him sitting on the back porch, smoking his long narrow pipe, his cloak thrown over his shoulders. She stopped a few steps behind him, and he spoke quietly without turning his head, his voice shaking from hardly controlled rage.

"You are making a mistake, Alfirin. Nothing good comes from going against one's destiny." Wren sighed.

"Perhaps," she did not want to argue with him. "But every time I think I am rejecting something I was destined to do, something new happens and it turns out I would have made a mistake had I agreed." He slightly turned and gave her a questioning look. She slowly approached him and sat on a bench near him. "You do not know me, Amrod," it was one of the first times she had ever used his name, and he drew a sharp breath in, "Do not misunderstand me, I believe you, I believe you have had your dreams and even it is possible I am the woman you saw in them… But it is never to happen. I will never be your Alfirin."

"Something is broken in my destiny, Amrod," Wren continued, her eyes on the snow covered hills in front of them, "Everything I thought was to be does not happen. Everything that makes sense is not to come. The world of Men, where I belonged by my birth and my craft… I had to leave it… The Elves offered me a sanctuary, I refused it. And you..." She turned to him and gave him a small smile. "I could see how time could pass, and we could grow close, and as improbable as it is, you could love me," she noticed her heart was still and calm at these words, "Perhaps because of your dreams, or even our tempers could be suitable, and with time even such a splendid man could grow to love a small plain bird, but… I belong to another, and he to me, in life and death..." Her voice broke, and she felt tears run down her cheeks. The elation of the morning was wearing off, and she felt cold again.

"One can heal and love again, Wren. You buried your King, and you live. You need to accept it," Amrod's tone was insistent, and Wren ignored the irritation rising in her. He was once again judging what he knew nothing of, but she did not want to confront him and disclose more than he already knew.

"I will never love another. And forgive my hasty judgement of your character, but do I gather it right you are a man of charm?" She asked giving him a pointed look.

"If you are asking me if I have led a lecherous life before, I will not deny it, Alfirin, but I swear to you, were I to have you..." He rushed to reassure her, but she waved her hand at him.

"Maiar forbid, I do not reprobate!" She interrupted him and brushed her hand on his forearm. "All I want to say is that you have known women, but you have never settled. And something tells me that dream of yours was quite a convenient excuse for you..." She asked impishly, and the corner of his lips twitched in a lopsided smirk. "Had you wished to take a wife, there must have been hundreds of willing, and yet..."

"I have been waiting for you, Wren," his voice dropped, in a low fruity murmur, but she chuckled unaffected.

"And you have met me. And now you could say your destined one has rejected you but you will preserve her image in your heart and will never belong to another." He was trying to suppress a grin, but it escaped. They looked into each other's eyes for a few instants, and Wren sighed. "Perhaps in another life we were destined for each other, Amrod, son of Mablung, but this time my story is nothing but a fractured journey..." He was silent, studying her face, and then she saw some sort of decisive calmness flood his features. He gave her a small nod, and nothing else was needed to be said.

"And where does it lead, Wren?" He asked her, and she shivered. The ranger picked up the cloak from his shoulders and wrapped it around her.

"I do not know, but I know where it ends. It ends where it started," Wren was speaking more to herself than to him, "In the catacombs of the Kingdom Under the Mountain."

"That is not a journey, Wren, that is a circuition. I prefer my travels to be open-ended, nothing but a road ahead of me," he was frowning now, and she rose.

"And may they be open and bear just the right amount of adventures," Wren gave him a gentle smile and leaning in pressed her lips to his high forehead. "Farewell, honourable Ranger of Ithilien." She placed his cloak on his lap and went back into the house.

"Do you not want to know what I saw in my dreams, Wren?" He called after her, and she threw him a sad look over her shoulder.

"I have been giving up so much these days, Amrod, I do not want to know what I have just rejected. It would be too painful. I will just look back and think of a handsome and charming ranger. I do not want to know more," Wren turned away and decisively closed the door behind her.

* * *

Amrod left the same day, claiming to be travelling West, and Wren did not see his departure. She was packing her belongings, folding warm clothes that Martha gave her into her bags and reviewing provisions they had prepared.

In four days they were ready to leave the hospitable house of the Skinchanger. They had a large dinner, a lot of mead was drunk, and Bofur and Dwalin sang. The tattooed warrior was much more merry after the departure of the Ithilien ranger, and to Wren's surprise in Amrod's absence Dwalin did not attempt to take the reigns over their trip, giving up all power to Wren.

They set on the road before dawn, in the crisp air of december, Beorn and Martha waving to them, and Wren marched without turning back. Something told her she would see them again, and she was leaving with a light heart.

The weather seemed to favour them this time, and they were now travelling by foot, only the most necessary things packed into the bags on their backs. Days went on and on, another night with the King came, full of warmth and passion and love. In the morning Wren woke up with tears on her eyes, and after that she just could not seem to shake off some strange cold feeling in her chest. Arrival to Rivendell was upon them, and Wren was feeling she would find her answer there. She also knew that it would mean a sea of suffering to her, but no choice had been given to her from the start, and she just trod through the snow stubbornly, the walking stick in her hand, and pain growing and blooming in her heart.

* * *

**A/N: ****Serious question**** to you, my darlings! (not really, but ****please read**** and answer in a review if you can :D)**

**Currently I have **_**Me Without You**_** (with the companion piece), **_**Thorin's Barrel of Fun**_** and **_**Thorin Oakenshield and the Conundrum of Ginger Transfer Student**_** (Harry Potter crossover) running at the same time. **

**But damn it, because I was updating **_**Thorin's Timeline**_** (short guide to my stories) and because that bloke from "Outlander" TV series is virtually EVERYWHERE these days, and he is just SCREAMING Dain, son of Thorin, I got very inspired about **_**Life That Always Will Be**_** *whispers* I have three chapters. **

**So…**

**If I start updating that story as well, would it be too much? I feel like you, as readers, might feel scattered and it could take away from reading experience. I only want for everyone to enjoy my writing (if possible :D) So let me know, if you want another story to run at the same time, or we should wait till **_**Me Without You**_** is completed and then move to **_**Life That Always Will Be**_**.**

**Thank you for your attention and can't wait to hear what you think (and what you thought of this chapter as well please :D)**

**Love you all ardently,**

**kkolmakov**


	36. Chapter 36

**A/N: If you read the companion M rated piece "Me Together With You," please read Chapter 4 in it before this one. "Together" is complete for now, and Wren continues her journey.**

* * *

There was one day of travel left before they would reach Rivendell, and Wren found herself sitting staring at their campfire, unable to sleep. Her thoughts were again and again returning to her second night with the King. After she had entered the room, he had dragged her into the bedchambers by her hand, she was laughing at his fervour, he was already shaking off his tunic. After they had enjoyed each other three times, and Wren still felt the heady blush thinking back at the acts they had performed, they were sitting in front of the fireplace, cozily crackling in the bedroom, on the furs thrown on the floor in front of it, her back pressed to his chest, a quilt wrapped around both of them…

* * *

"_We still need to talk, ushaktul," the King's tone was soft, but firm, and she sighed. _

"_I do not wish to talk, Thorin. There are just a few days of journey left till we reach Rivendell, perhaps we have very little time left," she choked on her words and felt the ring of his arms around her tighten._

"_Even more so… We need to talk of what you are to do when I am gone." Wren took a measured breath in and slightly turned her head to give him a stern glare. He leaned in and kissed her nose. "Ushaktul, you have to promise me..."_

"_I do not have to promise you anything," she interrupted him, and then closed her eyes in embarrassment. "Forgive me, I did not mean any offence..." He did not lower his arms, but she felt his body tense and as if grow colder._

"_You are right, you do not owe me anything," his voice grew hollow, and she turned to him, pressing her forehead to his temple._

"_I did not mean it in such way, I just do not want to talk… about your passing."_

"_Wren, I have no claim on you, and no right to ask for any. You have no obligation towards me, but I have a plea… Promise me you will wed when I am gone." She jolted and moved away from him, clutching the quilt to her chest. She felt like asking whether he was mad and what sort of opinion he seemed to have of her, but then she saw earnest appeal in his eyes. _

"_Thorin..."_

"_If a chance comes, do not turn it away."_

"_I do not want a chance! I want to grieve you, and I just cannot… will not be able to..." She felt sobs choking her, and she whipped her head hiding her face from him._

"_You can grieve me, my heart, but do not use me as an excuse to hide from life. I am dead, Wren." She gasped, his words were slashing her like the sharpest of blades, and she sank teeth into her bottom lip, almost drawing blood. "We were given this time, but it is to end, and you will have to live on." She looked at him and saw his face sad but calm. Wren pressed her lips stubbornly._

"_I do not have to wed to have a plentiful life. You have not," she pointed, and he gave her a warm smile._

"_I have not indeed. But it is different for the Khazad, Wren. We believe we have a 'sanyasath,' the perfect bride, the One destined for us by Mahal, the Smith of the Valar. I had not met mine and died unwed." She cringed, from his nonchalant mentioning of his death, but then she assumed he was just too sated and relaxed to feel agitated by it at the moment. She slowly moved closer to him, and he opened his arms. After settling into them again, she sighed and asked in a small voice._

"_So, what is to happen of her now? Is she left somewhere alone without you? It is so sad..." Suddenly Wren felt an acute sympathy to that unknown Dwarven woman, she had a chance to be his and possess him, have his sons, and the honour of being his wife, and all of it was taken away from her._

"_Sad indeed," he agreed and nodded, pressing his nose at the back of Wren's head. Something was odd in his voice, and Wren tried to turn to look at him. He did not let her and whispered into her curls, "Not only she is left without me, she is marching through the Misty Mountains in December. It is a perilous endeavour..." Despite his attempt to hold her immobile, she twisted in his arms and gawked at him._

"_You do not believe it! I am no Dwarf!" His eyes were twinkling softly, and he tapped the tip of her nose with his index finger._

"_And I am dead, and yet..." She puffed some air out, his complete casualness with the matter of him being deceased was making her rather vexed. _

"_If you believe it, then how can you even assume I would look at another?!" She cried out, and since he did not seem that affected by her discontent, she pushed him, toppling him backwards. Her attempt to snub him backslid since falling backwards he pulled her after him. She squeaked, but he held her tightly and she ended up splayed on him._

"_Do you promise me you will consider it?" He pressed his large hot palm on her head, keeping it pressed to his chest, and her nose bumped into the coarse hair and scorching skin, and she felt compliant and soft, only wanting to purr and nuzzle him._

"_No," she answered nonetheless and rubbed her cheek to him. "I refuse." He sighed under her, and to distract him from the conversation she pushed her hand down, over his stomach, and lower._

"_Wren, are you prepared to reap the fruit you are seeding?" His voice was raspy, and she bit into the solid muscles. _

"_I am counting on a plentiful harvest, my lord."_

* * *

"Not sleeping, lass?" Bofur's voice made her jump up, she had a ridiculous thought that one could read on her face what exactly she was recollecting, and she hurriedly took a sip from her waterskin.

The Dwarf sat on the fallen tree near her and started his pipe. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Wren was poking the embers with a stick, he was smoking, and then he cleared his throat.

"Does he know? Thorin, does he know of what happened in the mountains?" Wren gave him a confused look. "How we started up the mountains, and you fell, and the ranger found you, and we had to go back to the Skinchanger, and of your injuries..." Wren sighed and shook her head.

"I did not tell him."

"He would have been livid," the Dwarf's eyes twinkled in understanding, "Probably would have tried to send you home and such."

"He did before," Wren nodded and thought of that dream. It was their first kiss. How many more were left for them? Would there be any more? "I did not tell him because he could not have done anything, just torture himself over it."

"You almost died for him, lass." Bofur's tone was uncharacteristically somber. "He should know."

"What for? It was my decision to go to Rivendell, it is my quest. Him… He just has these hours in my dreams, he deserves them to be peaceful." Bofur exhaled a ring of smoke and look at her squinting.

"In your fever you spoke, lass. In Khuzdul and Common speech… In Khuzdul, we reckoned, it was Thorin speaking through you. You spoke of the Battle, of how Kili and Fili shielded him after he fell, and..." Bofur choke on his words and waved his pipe as if chasing the memories away. "We were there, you know. In the healer's tent when he passed away… He was awake till the end, so calm… talked to Bilbo, and the Elf… And then just closed his eyes and..." Wren kept her eyes on the flames of the campfire, letting the tears run unrestricted, and she heard Bofur sniffle loudly. "And you spoke of the Quest as well, of the opening of the door, and how we ignited the fires in the forges..." The Dwarf grew silent, and after a while Wren reigned her emotions.

"And in Common Speech? What did I say?" She looked at Bofur, and he met her eyes, a small smile appearing on his face.

"Mostly you were muddled, all words jumbled… But there were busses mentioned," he winked to her, and she squirmed on her tree. "You just kept on saying 'It makes no sense, it makes no sense' and also 'It is just because there is no other here,'" the Dwarf once again squinted his eyes at her and was studying her face. She blushed and went back to her stick and embers.

"Do you believe in a Dwarf having the 'sanyasath,' Master Bofur?" Wren asked in a small voice and braced herself for his answer. She wondered whether even Bofur with his light temper and obvious sympathy towards her would condemn her speaking Khuzdul and imposing on matters so sacred for the Khazad.

"I believe only a dimwit would not cherish a woman who went through so much for him," mischief was laced in his voice, but his eyes were earnest, and Wren gave him a grateful, bashful smile. "And answering your question, aye, I do, but there are so many of men among Dwarves, and only thrice fewer wives for us. Mahal had been generous to Thorin."

"Not to be disrespectful to your belief, Master Bofur, but how is this generous? First a death, though honourable, and then being stranded in a head of the scrap of a girl..." Wren bit her tongue, embarrassed by her snidy words, but Bofur chuckled warmly.

"Have you ever thought of where you are trying to let Thorin pass, honourable healer?" He asked, and she looked at him catching strange gravity in his tone.

"The Halls of Mandos, Itdendum," Wren carefully pronounced in Khuzdul, and he nodded.

"The Halls of Our Forefathers, where we as believed are to wait for our rebirth," he then gave her a pointed look, "But not the ones where Men and Elves go, our Maker adorned his Halls for the Khazad, and only for us. Have you thought that perhaps had Thorin not been lingering behind, he would have passed into Itdendum and never have known of you? How would he have found you then behind the veil? Perhaps Mahal was generous after all."

Wren was sitting staring at Bofur, her hands trembling, breath coming out of her in sharp exhales. The Dwarf got up, stuffing his now finished pipe behind his belt, and patted her shoulder.

"I will go let Dwalin rest, it is my turn for look out." Wren did not stir out of her transfixion, her eyes on the red embers.

Even if Bofur were right in his preposterous, hopeful outlook, would Mahal be generous enough to let them find the way to each other when it was her time to enter the Halls of Mandos? And even if so, if she were to succeed in her quest, how many years were she to endure before she was given a chance to see Thorin Oakenshield again?

* * *

**PLEASE READ:**

**Personal/important/not so important notes:**

**1\. My darlings, it is my birthday on Thursday 23rd :) Last year I got a tattoo of an oak tree on my wrist, and Wren got silver earrings in the shape of an oaken branch in "Thorin's Word of the Day" #39 'Impecunious' :D**

**This year I'm getting a tattoo of a wren on a wire (which is 'coincidentally' the name of my second novel I'm currently writing and parts of which I will be posting here as a test drive).**

**Can Wren get a drawing of her or her and Thorin, please? *shy shuffling of a foot* I myself am rather mediocre even in doodling (you can see my miserable efforts on my Deviantart page, nick kkolmakov), but if any of you draw or doodle or sketch, and feel like it, could you, please? *shy smile* I would be happy to provide visuals if you need any and also exchange a story (with reader insert or a prompt) to a drawing of my couple. **

**2\. "Wren on a Wire" will start when this story is done, and though the novel will have nothing to do with "The Hobbit" several of the characters there will be inspired by my OCs and already familiar characters, such as John Thorington and his family. I hope you will find it interesting and will join me on this journey as well.**

**3\. I'm also pondering what to do with "convince me the winter is over." It has gone through the initial editing process and now it is time to make a choice between a publishing house and self-publishing. Please, if you have a moment, let me know in a review or a PM what you think. **

**I am inclined to go with online self-publishing, that would make the final product cheaper and thus more easily available for those of you who would want one for themselves.**

**Thank you, my darlings, for reading and being here with me!**

**Love you all with all my heart!**

**kkolmakov**


	37. Chapter 37

**A/N: Happy Birthday to me-e-e-e!.. :D (Tomorrow, Thursday 23rd that is :D but I hurried up and am updating today since I will hardly be capable of doing it tomorrow) **

**Ehehehe, no, but it's not about me, it's about you, my beloved readers!**

**Prepare for the ****OUTBURST OF LOVE TOWARDS MY READERS****!**

**My darlings, you are wonderful! I LOVE YOU! I'm so grateful for sharing this adventure with you, and I would take each and every one of you over the army of people I know in real life ;) OK, some of them are not that bad, but you… You are marvellous!**

**The past year has been amazing, and it's all because of you! Thank you!**

**Love, love you all!**

**kkolmakov**

* * *

The air on the other side of the Mountains seemed softer, warmer, and yet it was clear that Winter had stepped into its rights even here. Wren slowly walked between Dwalin and Bofur, her thoughts invariably on the Dwarven King. After their second night she had no dreams, and she was certain it was her own mind that did not let her into that Hall. Her innate composure and decisive will were protecting her heart, and Wren welcomed the time of repose. She was collecting her thoughts, she knew change was coming. More so, she was certain the end of her quest was upon her.

"Alright, lass?" Bofur asked, hasting his stride and now walking near her. She lifted her eyes from the rocky path, and smiled to him absentmindedly.

"Are these the paths you walked in the quest of Erebor?"

"Aye, right after we left the Elves and Gandalf behind."

"Two days ago we passed where we had met the rock giants," grumbled Dwalin, and Wren looked at him in surprise. He had never struck her as nostalgic type. "Quite a rumble it was." Bofur laughed.

"We almost lost Fili then," Bofur choked on his words, and Wren threw him a sympathetic glance. "And Bilbo slipped off the rock. Thorin pulled him out."

"As if yesterday..." Dwalin's voice was uncharacteristically melancholic, and Wren watched his face soften.

"Only for you, Master Dwarf," Wren heard her own voice, and both Dwarves looked at her. "For everyone else it is just a legend now. He is... and what you went through, and Ori's drawings in the library. All of it… It is just a story now..." Her voice was cold, but how else was she to contain her tears?

"Not for you, lass," she did not expect Dwalin's soft tone, and then he awkwardly patted her shoulder. "Not for you..."

* * *

Rivendell was everything Wren had dreamed about, and of course so much more. They walked up tall wide stairs, Dwalin grumbled 'Again,' and stopped on a round landing. There was a pair of guards near tall closed gates, they opened silently, and a contemptuous looking Elf stepped up. Wren opened her mouth to introduce herself and her companions, when he suddenly gave her a low respectful bow.

"Lady Wren, welcome to Rivendell. Lord Elrod has been expecting you." The dark eyes of the Elf shifted on the Dwarves, and for an instant his features wavered.

"Good day, laddie. Remember us?" Bofur asked in a jolly voice.

It was quite obvious the Elf did. Wren attempted to suppress a snort, but failed, and then Dwalin stepped ahead and she felt his heavy hand on her shoulder. Looking over it, she met his laughing eyes. Apparently her sniggering did not escape his attention. She suddenly felt piecing affection for the menacing warrior and quickly patted his spade like hand. She was certain anything more would not be welcome, but she seemed to have guessed the right gesture. He gave her a small lopsided grin, and then they were invited inside.

* * *

Once again Wren was given a room, clothes to change in and a chance to bathe. Once again the Dwarves were invited to join her and their host at dinner, and once again they refused.

Everything seemed to go similar to what had happened in the Elvenking's Halls, and yet everything was different. Unlike Mirkwood Rivendell seemed to be flooded with light, though cold but the Sun was shining through tall windows, Wren seemed to breathe freely in these halls. And yet unlike in Mirkwood she felt apprehensive and anxious. Perhaps, the North-East with its severe beauty and the imposing Lonely Mountain in its heart had indeed become her home. Somehow, without her noticing it had creeped into her heart and had taken its place there. She found it almost amusing that her love for the North became strong and clear to her while away from it.

She went down an elegant passage and found herself in a small dining room. Three people were sitting at the table, and two rose when she entered. Lord Elrond, as imposing and ethereal as she expected, walked around the table and stretched his hand to her. The boy, about eight years of age remained standing behind him.

"Lady Wren, we greet you in Imladris. Allow me to introduce my daughter, Arwen," Wren looked at the young woman sitting at the table with a soft friendly smile on her lips, "And my ward, Estel." The boy gave Wren a low decorous bow. Estel, 'hope' in Sindarin, had astute grey eyes and features that promised a noble and strong face when he would come of age. He was of Men, and Wren felt acute curiosity towards him.

Wren was invited to join them at the table and for the next hour the conversation was as decorous as it was empty. They discussed the weather, Wren's trip and the news from the East she was bringing with her. With the passage of time Wren was feeling more at ease, probably from the keen interest Estel expressed in the news from all over Arda, and from the genuine warmth that glowed in the perfect face of Arwen. Wren spoke of her life in Dale, and of how abundant and peaceful life had become in Erebor, Dale, Esgaroth and Mirkwood. She also disclosed of her meeting of King Thranduil, emitting the details of her quest and the purpose of it, but the hosts did not inquire after any of them.

After dinner, Arwen excused herself and left the room in the company of Estel, while Wren was twirling her goblet in her fingers, waiting for Lord Elrond to address her.

"We have known of your arrival in advance, Lady Wren."

"I have guessed so by the reception I have recieved, Lord Elrond," Wren could not hold back her light sarcasm, and she saw one of the slanted eyebrows of the Elf crawl up. Wren worried her bottom lip, but with surprise she realised the time when she had been intimidated by the presence of yet another man in power had passed. Where was the Wren who did not want to change her quiet life and more than anything in this world was afraid of being noticed?

"I have received a letter from Mithrandir, informing me of your arrival, and he was asking for two favours in it. First one was to listen to you attentively and to take your words with an open mind." Wren listened silently, understanding that there was more that the Elf was to say. "The second was to invite another of our mutual acquaintances to meet you." There was some mischief sparkling in the mesmerizing eyes of the Elf Lord, and Wren tilted her head.

"And who would that be?"

"Master Bilbo Baggins. He has been sent for," the deep hypnotic voice of Lord Elrond dropped in another slightly impish remark, and Wren raised surprised eyes at him. "But as you will soon hear from him, hobbits are not fond of travelling in unpleasant weather, so he was rather reluctant to start his journey here. We are expecting him next week." Wren frowned quickly pondering his words.

"Why do you think the Grey Wizard thought I should meet Master Baggins?"

"Why not share your aggravation with me first, Lady Wren? I have to admit I am at loss at what exactly is transpiring here." The Elf's voice was polite but left no room for argument. Wren placed her goblet back on the table, sighed and started her story.

Wren had finished the account of her adventures, obviously leaving certain portions out, and silence reigned in the room. Lord Elrond stood by the window, watching the sunset, and Wren suddenly felt so very tired. It was not the satisfied tiredness of a person who had reached their destination, it was the exhaustion of a prison whose day of execution had arrived.

"So do you have the answer for me, Lord Elrond?" Wren asked, and her voice sounded irked.

"An answer?" The Elf turned around, one of his brows slightly cocked up, and Wren sighed.

"Yes, do you know how to help Thorin Oakenshield pass into the Halls of Mandos?" The words hurt. Like blades they pierced her, as if a dagger sliding between her ribs, cutting her breath, cleaving her heart. She even closed her eyes, and the Dwarven King's face was in front of her mental gaze.

* * *

"_Why are you so sad, ushaktul?" He lay on his stomach, stretched along her body, his nose pressed into her shoulder, the heavy large hand stroking her bare stomach. She gave him a sardonic look, as if asking whether he in actuality required an answer to this question. He smirked and funnily wrinkled his nose. "Besides bedding a corpse." She puffed air out in feigned scorn and kicked him under the covers. He guffawed and caught her ankle in his scorching hand._

"_I am sad because you cannot leave this hall," she mumbled, and he stroked the round bone on her ankle with his thumb. She felt instantly embarrassed by her confession, but he hummed encouraging her to talk. "It is December now, there are no leaves or blooming trees, but there is severe beauty in Winter as well..." Her lips trembled, and she dropped her head back not allowing tears to spill. "I know you are of Khazad, and fields and flowers matter little to you, but if only..." She shook her head, it was the first time she allowed such unrestrained words slip off her lips, she had never professed before what they both no doubt felt._

"_I would walk in a field of flowers with you, zunshel," his voice was soft, melancholic, and she suddenly noticed that it was lacking the excruciating pain that was in Wren's heart. He had accepted his fate, she had just seemed to have conceived it._

_It suddenly hurt so much that she rolled away from him on the bed that was nothing but a phantom in her mind, in a hall that did not exist, and she fell on the floor, on her hands and knees. Sobs and heaves were wrecking her body, and then a pair of strong arms enveloped her. He was murmuring comfortingly, stroking her hair, pulling her in. And she clawed on his shoulders, and then she kissed, and almost bit, and he answered with the equal fervour, but the pain stayed, and her heart was broken, and there was no escape…_

* * *

"I have come to your home, my lord, seeking your counsel. Do you have it for me?"

"I do," Lord Elrond studied her face, "And at the same time I do not." Wren exhaled sharply and suddenly imagined hurling a goblet into his head. She was so very tired… "I do not have an answer for you, Lady Wren," Lord Elrond's voice was soft, and he walked up and sat in a chair in front of her, "But I know a person who does. I have been informed that Lady Galadriel is arriving to Rivendell tomorrow at dawn to speak to you." Wren jolted, and the Elf softly picked up her hands. "Lady of Lothlorien has shared with me the compassion she is feeling for you and your quest, and she is coming to offer you her advice. I suggest you listen to it." Lord Elrond moved her hands on his right palm, so much larger than hers, fingers adorned with opulent rings, and he patted them with his left one. Wren exhaled carefully and then nodded. "She also asked me to remind you that nights are only short if they are spent in deep sleep."

Blush flooded Wren's cheekbones, and she did not dare to lift her eyes. She heard a warm low chuckle from the Elven Lord, and then he wished her good night, and she was shown back to her room. Wren fell in her bed, and as she now understood, she was faced with a choice between having rest and spending the night in the arms of the Dwarven King.

There was so little time left, and Wren reminded herself she could have rest once the quest was over.

* * *

_Ra nî lomil tamhari, akhsigabi azâgê... / And if the night is burning, I will cover my eyes..._

* * *

Wren rushed in, and into his arms, seeking his mouth, her hands brushing on the skin of his strong neck, but she felt him move away, after the first short kiss.

"Zunshel, we need to talk..."

* * *

**A/N: My darlings, "****convince me the winter is over****" will soon be available on Amazon for pre-order, I'm just waiting on my cover. I'm so excited! :D**

**A/N#2: My darling ****Just4Me****, I laughed so hard on my own clumsy wording after your review. You are so right, using a word 'seed' in this context was so ambiguous! I was just aiming for an innuendo, not a hint on a baby, and didn't even catch it. A few readers perked up and asked about it actually, but no, I just meant his raging erection caused by her deft fingers tip-toeing down his stomach ;)**


	38. Chapter 38

**A/N: ****My darling readers****, thank you all so much for all your kind congratulations and wishes! The birthday went well, and now I have a wren on my left forearm to keep company to the oaktree on my right wrist :D**

**And now to Middle Earth! **

"**Beautiful" by Apocalyptica is my soundtrack for this chapter, but no pressure :) I just love these rough Finnish blokes, in fact all this album works perfectly for this story.**

* * *

**A/N#2: My dear ****GuestReader A.****, I had the plot planned up to the smallest detail some time around chapter 3 :D Before it I also had had a different plan, but a new thought came and I abandoned the initial plot, seemed way too predictable. And then the whole story quickly took shape in my head. But I'm glad it is good enough to enjoy the journey as opposed to wanting to know the answer right now :)**

* * *

The King led her to the table by both of her hands and sat her on a chair. Wren did not fail to notice how he himself took a seat at a distance from her, their knees were not touching, and she felt tension heavily spill in her nape.

"Are you in Rivendell, zunshel?" His voice was stern, and the blue eyes seemed cold.

"Yes, I am. We have arrived safely and were met hospitably," she answered, cautiously choosing words. He nodded, seemingly lost in his thoughts.

"And what did the Elf tell you?" The tone of his previously tender and affectionate voice was brisk, curt, she was painfully reminded of their first encounters, where he would be demanding her report, hardly at all concerned that she was a living being with feelings and her own life to tend to. Wren was taking slow careful breaths, reminding herself that making hasty conclusions was foolish. It indeed looked as if he was in a rush to fulfill whatever advice Lord Elrod was to give them, and somewhere deep in her heart Wren understood. Of course she did. He was stranded in an empty hall with her as his only company, and just a few hours to exist every night. It would have been a torture for a lesser man than him, but he was a Dwarf, a King and quite a character. Wren lowered her face and stared at her hands.

"I will receive my answer tomorrow morning. Lady Galadriel is arriving to aid me… Us, to aid us in this quest..." _Us_, Wren thought. She had no right to say that, they were nothing but two people thrown together in circumstances, two people who could not avoid each other, and she was foolish, so very foolish, to fall in love with him. He only wanted to pass on, to see his ancestors, to accept the honour he had so fully deserved. He did not want to linger in her dreams. How could she have been so reckless?

"Does it mean it is perhaps our last meeting, Wren?" His tone was even and calm, and she nodded without lifting her eyes at him. She could not. "Then we need to discuss what you are to do the day after tomorrow." The first tentative tinges of irritation were rising in her. It was not that she was hoping for him to lament and pull out his beard, but she would welcome a slightly less indifferent tone. She did not need his gratitude, she did not need praise. Respect was what Wren was hoping for.

"The day after tomorrow I will be either waiting for Master Bilbo Baggins to arrive to Rivendell as a favour to Gandalf the Grey, or I will be travelling back across the Misty Mountains."

"Bilbo?" For the first time since she entered the Hall, the King's voice grew emotional, and she finally lifted her face. He was looking at her aghast. "What does the hobbit have to do with it?"

"I do not know. The Grey Wizard requested his presence at the same time as mine in Rivendell. I do not think even Lord Elrond understands the wizard's aim." The King lifted a fist to his irked, pressed lips and frowned, his eyes distant, probably trying to perceive the wizard's intentions. Wren sat in silence. The air in the Hall was growing colder, and she shivered. Her mind was clearly agitated, and as she now knew the surroundings were nothing but its reflection.

"The wizard has always been fond of meddling into the order of things, and I cannot say his plans have been clear all the time. Or successful for that matter. They cost too many their lives." The King grumbled and looked at Wren again. It still felt as if he was hardly noticing her. She pressed her knees together, trying to gather some warmth.

"I want you to go to my sister after you finish your quest. She will take care of you, Wren. If she does not believe you, I will give you secret words in Khuzdul. I am certain she will provide you with enough gold to live without trouble from now on." He got up, walked around the table, and stopped on the other side, facing away from her, his fingers absentmindedly running on the forte of a sword mounted on one of the stands. It was wide, heavy, clearly Dwarven, and suddenly Wren noticed that every object in the room, even the books on the shelf, were indubitably Dwarven. The weapons, the heavy metal clad spines of volumes, many bearing the letters of Khuzdul, the tapestries on the wall... Her mind was providing the King with the utmost comfort. He was apparently trying to do the same. And yet suddenly she felt like the cheapest harlot in the dirtiest inn in Bree.

"I do not require any gold. I have my craft, I will return to Dale to serve in my infirmary." Her tone was cold, she was fisting her hands. Had she not cared for him so, she would have just agreed and let him have his illusion. She would have acted in such way with any other man. That had been how she had survived in this world, knowing when to keep silent and when to speak up. But she had grown up, or had grown tired, and she just did not want to be careful anymore.

And then again, and pain wrenched into her heart, suffocating and blinding her, would he even remember this conversation once he entered the Halls of his Forefathers? She could just imagine him crossing the threshold through heavy gates and feeling that the Battle of the Five Armies had just concluded, he had just fell, his nephews spilling their last blood in front of his eyes, and there he was, quietly passing in the healer's tent, with Master Baggins and Gandalf standing above him, Balin quietly crying in the corner, Dwalin shaking in helpless rage, and then… His Father and his Grandfather would open their arms greeting him, and all his kin would be there, to bow to him and embrace him, another King, another from the Line of Durin, another King Under the Mountain…

And if his memory would remain, would he ever even give her a thought? A scrap of a girl, some feeble healer from the half restored city of Men, firstly an unwilling helper, then a very willing strumpet…

* * *

"Wren, you deserve reward for all the trouble you went through..."

Perhaps he had good intentions, perhaps in his thick-skulled, bigoted, avaricious Dwarven mind he was being fair and even generous, but for her it sounded rather like throwing a pouch of silver to the ashes of a house one had just pillaged and burnt to the ground. She was shaking and was perhaps very pale, but again he was not facing her.

"I have been rewarded already, I got to see Mirkwood and offered to stay there working in the Mirkwood Library. I met Lord Elrond, it is an honour beyond others. I spent a few days in the house of Beorn the Skinchanger..." Her voice was ringing, tense, strained.

"Beorn? Did not know you met the beast..." He still was not turning to her, his tone was disinterested, and she was growing more and more aggravated.

"I did. And I consider my experiences the reward enough."

"You cannot return to your mediocre craft, Wren," he slightly turned his head, and she saw muscles play on his jaw. She gasped at his wording, and he gave her an exasperated look. He was apparently irritated by the lack of an immediate and jubilant agreement from her. "Such undistinguished vocation is unfitting to who you are..."

"Who I am?!" She did not expect her voice to rise to a shrieky scream right away, she usually had more composure than this, but his words, his coldness, and the fact that she still craved him like an addictive potion hurt so much, that only in shout she could find some relief. "I am exactly this! I am a mediocre, unfitting, undistinguished girl of Men, and the only thing I pride myself in is my craft! I am a good healer!.."

"You are as much as my wife!" He roared back, swirling on his heels, his eyes blazing, and pointing his finger at her.

"I am in no way even close to your wife! " She did not know at what point she jumped up on her feet. "I will live the way I think right and I will respect myself for it!"

"You will do as I say!" He growled at her, stepping closer, and she winced away from him. "You will go back to Erebor, you will accept my sister's gold and you will live in luxury and safety, and wait for your time. And then pray Mahal, you will join me in..."

"I will never do this!" She yelled back at him, and he grabbed her upper arm.

"You professed your love for me! Do you not want to join me in Itdendum?!" He hissed through his teeth, the snarl was terrifying, she could see he was feeling less confident now, but as she had assumed from the start, he was hardly capable of thinking straight when fury took him. Feeling uncertain would obviously make him only more enraged, more dangerous, more terrifying...

"I do! But until then, how can you decide how I am to live? You do not know me! I do not take my words of love back, but how I am to go on..." He did not give her a chance to continue and shook her, making her hair whip and fall on her face. She narrowed her eyes at him, manhandling her was a mistake, he would soon find out.

"Stop being so senseless!"

"Oh, I am being very sensible! You are dead, and I am nothing but your consolation prize! You will pass, and forget me, and I will live my life the way I lived before!" And before he opened his mouth to contradict her again, she sneered at him, an odd pained grimace that she was trying to pass as a derisive smile distorting her mouth, "And I will consider the past two nights my reward."

He froze, and then his hand constricted on her upper arm, hurting her, bruising her. And then he pushed her away from him, the shove was so violent that she tumbled on the floor, scraping her knees on the cold stone. An absurd thought came, it was only fair that if she could feel pleasure in her dreams, she was to feel pain as well.

"Get out..." He was standing his back to her, and she slowly rose on her feet. She would shout to him to leave instead, among other thing she doubted her legs would listen to her, but she knew he could not. She made a few steps, her knees shaking, and her hands lay on the heavy leaves of the door. "And to think of it the door said, 'Adrân mamahulu sanzigil...'" He rasped out, clearly not addressing her...

She did not have the strength to ask, and she pushed the doors blindly, through the veil of tears, clouding her eyes, and streaming down her cheeks.

* * *

_Ra adjini tada zasaziliki e... / I'll hope you'll remember me…_


	39. Chapter 39

**A/N: If you feel traumatised by the previous chapter, I suggest you go on the page of ****Wynni****, my lovely collaborator, and have a look at the little one-shot _Broom Bearing Relationship Counseling_ (I suspect that's her way of therapizing herself out of the misery that is my story :P) The same issues will be addressed but this time it'll all end well. Well, there will be a couple goose eggs but it is hardly a high price for peace :)**

* * *

**A/N#2: Sam Heughan, people, Sam Heughan with ginger hair is your visual for this chapter :D**

* * *

Wren stepped out of the room, her eyes opened but there was no filigree ceiling above her, no soft breeze outside the windows of the room given to her in Rivendell. She was in her inn room in Dale, and she looked around in astonishment. The same bare bed with the thin blanket, the table by the wall, with a piece of parchment folded four times and tucked under one of its legs to prevent it from wobbling, the hard uncomfortable chair that served her as a seat during the day and as a place for her clothes at night, her old worn down trunk by the wall, everything so familiar…

Wren's heart clenched, she would never be back at that room… Not because the room was gone, but because Wren was…

There was no more prudent and composed healer from Dale, there was no more Wren of Enedwaith, there was no coming back for her. After this quest, she would have to pick herself up, to find herself, to take shape and to learn to live anew, and she was not certain she could.

* * *

On her bed sat a man. He was short, her height, wide in build, but with sudden certainty she knew that if he were a Dwarf, there was some other blood also running in his veins. He was leaner and more long-legged than the Khazad, the features of his face were elegant and noble, and he had most unusual slanted eyes, of the brightest green. He was giving her a warm look, and there was a soft smile on his lips.

Wren stood frozen in the door, and then she stomped her foot in exasperation.

"Another Dwarf in my head?!" she cried out, and the man on the bed started laughing loudly. The laugh was gleeful, full of life and merriment, and he clapped his large hand on his knee.

"Oh, Filegethiel, your wit will be the death of us!" He kept on guffawing, and Wren puffed some air out.

"Who are you?" She grumbled, half seeking an answer, half feeling too apathetic to care.

"My name is Dain, I am of kin to Thorin Oakenshield." He got up from the bed and gave her a decorous bow. He was dressed in modest yet expensive Dwarven attire, dark burgundy doublet, black trousers and leather boots, too light for the Khazad. There was a scabbard on his back, but it was empty.

"Dain? Ironfoot?" He smirked at that assumption and came up to her desk. She saw the fingers of his hand, too long and thin for a Dwarf to run on her drawings scattered on it.

"Hardly," he smiled to his own thoughts. He then picked up one of the drawings and turned it to her. She looked at the face of the dead Dwarven King, and her heart stuttered. The astonishment from finding herself in the new odd dream had ebbed slightly, and she remembered where she had just come from, and what had transpired. She heavily walked to the bed and sat down on it.

* * *

"Why are you here, Filiegethiel? Why are you hiding in your old room in the inn in Dale?" The man asked, his eyes softly studying her face.

"I have nowhere else to go." Her own words made her press her lips harder, to reign her sobbing. She indeed had nowhere to go.

The one called Dain put the drawing back on the table, walked up to her and suddenly knelt in front of her. He picked up both her hands, and she felt calloused warm palms underneath her fingers.

"My mother, a wise woman as she was, once told me that running only succeeds if you run somewhere, and not from something. If you have nowhere to go, Filiegethiel, you will not escape what you are fleeing."

"Your mother seems like a very wise woman," Wren mumbled. And conceited and pompous as well, Wren thought, but did not say. She had had enough of altercations for one night, she did not want to incense the man in front of her.

She was also feeling some strange instant affection towards him. Her mind was searching her memories, looking for a similar sensation, and not finding it. There was a flurry of emotions akin to ardent friendship, but again it seemed there was more. Was it sisterly love? She had never had brothers she could feel affectionate towards, but perhaps… There was no romantic interest in her, as attractive as he was, with his high cheekbones and distinguished refined features, she could not find any sensuality in her, and yet there was some warmth and longing... She then noticed that she was scrutinizing his face and he was kneeling in front of her, allowing her, patiently, the line of his lips soft, warmth splashing in the green irises.

And then suddenly she recognised the voice!

"It was you! In the Mountains, when I was freezing! You woke me up!" She grabbed one of his hands, her fingers locking around his wrist. Something was so very familiar about this sensation, but she ignored it. "You made me get up and walk!" He smiled to her wider and nodded.

"I could not let your freeze in the snow, that was not your destiny." Wren jerked her hands away from him.

"Destiny again?! Maiar help me, am I not to have any say in my life? Just these tasks, and the quest, no freedom, no choice..." She exhaled in agitation, and to her surprise she heard a soft chuckle from the man.

"My mother would say that feeling sorry for oneself is like kissing one's own bruise better, the pain will just stay." Wren suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. She knew Dwarves were loyal and loving sons, but surely he did not have to mention his mother every second minute. Some impish light was glimmering in his eyes, as if he knew of her irritation though, and she schooled her face into a patient expression.

* * *

"You cannot say you have had no choice in this matter, Filiegethiel, honourable healer of the city of Dale. You were given a task, whether to take it upon yourself and which path to choose on every crossing you have encountered, those were your decisions." The one called Dain spoke softly, "I can understand if you are feeling regret..."

"I am not!" Wren interrupted him, but before she was even to start discussing anything with him, she gave him an examining look over, "Who are you? Why are you in my dream?"

"I am but a ghost, Filiegethiel," some shade of melancholy ran in his eyes, but then he added firmly. "A friend. Consider me a small aid on your path."

"My path is almost over, I have one conversation to have, and one task to fulfill," Wren answered curtly.

"Are you to die tomorrow, Filegethiel?" The man lifted one brow, and it also seemed familiar, but Wren was too absorbed into shock from his question.

"No! Why?.. What?..."

"If you are not to die tomorrow, then your path is not over. While you breathe and live, you will have to make choices and accept sacrifices and feel pain. Such is life, Filiegethiel." Wren sighed, and he tenderly picked up both her hands now, in his left one and patted by the right. "And especially such is life with a Dwarf. One cannot expect a harmonious and serene relations with Thorin Oakenshield, Filegethiel." Wren jerked her face up and stared at him in astonishment. "Is it not why you are hiding here, honourable healer? From the famous temper of the Dwarven King?"

"He wanted me to give up my service and sit in a golden cage, waiting for my death..." Wren mumbled, and the one called Dain nodded, compassionate understanding colouring his features.

"Ah, the eternal paradox of wanting to change the very core of a person one fell in love with… The King Under the Mountain has always been very fond of such mistake. He forgets that those very pursuits were what made you into you, and into what he cherishes so much."

"He was trying to protect me, to foster me..." Wren spoke in a small voice, feeling the need to defend the King.

"Of course he did, of course," the man stroked her hands again. "And rather selflessly, if you think of it, Filegethiel. The safer, the more prosperous your life is to be, the longer he is to wait for Mahal's judgement upon you."

"It could have been our last night and he wanted to talk, and to finish his affairs, and take care of me… He can do so little, and he was in a rush, and I did not try to understand… And all I heard was that he was paying me off..." She felt tears stinging her eyes. Regret flooded her. "What does 'adrân mamahulu sanzigil mean'?" Wren did not know what pushed her to ask, but the man smiled back to her.

"Time is made of mithril. It is an expression reminding one of how precious our time with those we love is, and how one should not waste it."

Wren lifter her face and then driven by some unconscious impulse she cupped the face of the man in front of her. He leaned into her palm, closing his eyes in obvious pleasure.

"I have made a mistake..." Her voice was shaking, and the slanted green eyes slowly opened, and a half smile graze the lips, the soft line of which seemed so surprising on the strong, slightly aloof face, and so very familiar.

"The dawn is not upon you yet, Filegethiel," the one called Dain skewed his eyes, as if pointing somewhere behind him, and Wren looked and saw a door in the wall. She gasped, and he emitted a soft hum. "Go, amad, do not prolong his torture..." His low mesmerizing voice was but a whisper, and Wren jumped on her feet, forgetting to ask what 'amad' meant, and dashed by him.

She jerked the handle, the darkness enveloped and immediately released her, and she rushed into the familiar hall.

* * *

_Ra nî lomil tamhari, akhsigabi azâgê... / And if the night is burning, I will cover my eyes..._

* * *

"Thorin!"


	40. Chapter 40

"Thorin!"

Wren was immediately stunned by the changes in the room. It was dark, there was only one dim light in the hall, from an oil lamp on the desk by the wall. It was also cold, the chill air of the room as if licked her skin, and jarred it, her teeth started chattering, and she turned her head hastily, looking around the room. For an instant it seemed that he was not even there, and her heart thrashed in panic, in her throat, but then she saw him. He stood at the same very spot she had seen him for the first time, his back to her, a dark menacing figure, and she breathed out, "Thorin..."

"I did not expect you to come back..." His voice was nothing but a hollow rasp, lifeless, so uncharacteristic, and she unconsciously made a step forward.

"I have. And I want to apologize..."

"I as much as raised my hand at you, Wren. I am the one who should ask for forgiveness." He still was not turning to her, his voice the same listless and dull monotone.

"And I will give you a chance to, but first let me speak…" She gathered her thoughts, her fingers fidgeting, while her mind worked, "I was unfair. I have not given it a proper thought, I was rash. You expressed your care for me, the way you thought was best, and I have only heard… I does not matter what I heard," she interrupted herself firmly and saw him slightly shift. "I always doubt myself, and it made me doubt you, but that was unfair. Forgive me."

"Have you thought I was redressing you?" He asked, and she nodded, though he could not see.

"I beg forgiveness, Thorin," she made another step to him, longing for him but feeling uncertain. Her eyes roamed his dark figure, shoulders tense, hands probably crossed on his chest. "It was only judgement upon my worth, not yours. As soon as I had an instant to stop and think of your words, I immediately remembered that… I believe you. I believe that you care for me, and that when my time comes, and if Mahal is generous, and if you still want me, we will be together." A leaden joyless chuckle jolted the King's shoulders.

"If I still want you..." Wren pressed her lips.

"I know you think I am being self-degrading again, but we cannot know what is to happen... You might not even remember me..."

"Is that what the Elf said?" Thorin twirled on his heels, and she finally saw his face. Pale, exhausted, bitter lines lying in the corners of his lips, eyes as if sunken, he looked years older, and Wren winced away, shocked by the changes, her heart clenching in acute sympathy.

"I have not spoken with Lady Galadriel, it is still the same night..." Her voice was hardly audible, and she stepped to him, raising her shaking hand.

"Same night?" His eyes widened, "It has been hours… Perhaps days… I lost track..." He suddenly swayed, and she rushed to him. He was sinking on the floor, and she grabbed him across his middle, but he was too heavy.

"Thorin!" He managed two steps, only because of her support, and she leaned him against the wall, and she tried to wrap his limp arm around her shoulders. "Thorin, what is it?.."

"I do not know… Everything swims, the chest is tight..." She could see he was trying to take a breath in, his hand closed around a fistful of his tunic on the chest.

"Thorin!" Her voice was panicked, and she was grasping for him, and then he gasped loudly. Wren could not conceive what was happening, and then she felt some clammy moist on her hands. "Thorin, you are bleeding!"

"I can't bleed… I am dead..." He breathed out, and she watched in terror his eyes roll back, and his body slipped from out of her hands.

* * *

"Thorin!" He was spread on the floor, a dark spot quickly growing on his tunic, first on his right side, on his ribs, then on his trousers all over the right leg, then his left side, the lower stomach, and Wren pressed her hands into what she expected to be a gaping wound.

There were no cuts. She could feel his hot even skin under her palms, and she cupped his face with her right hand.

"Thorin, Thorin! Talk to me! Thorin!" His lashes fluttered, and clouded blue eyes opened with difficulty.

"It is the Battle… Azog's blade..." He coughed, and she saw red foam on his lips and a trickle of blood running from the corner of his lips.

"No, no, it cannot be!" Her scream was shrieky. "It has been two years! It is just my dream! What have I done?! Is it my fault?! Thorin, please! No!.. Please!.."

"No, no, it is not your fault..." He smiled to her softly, and then another cough shook his body, the upper half on her lap, she had not noticed when she fell on her knees. "I am just… Dead… And you have to accept it, zunshel… My heart, you have to..."

"No! I do not want to accept it! I want to fight! I cannot..." A sob wrecked her body, and she pulled him to her, and pressed her temple to his forehead, "I cannot… Cannot give you up… No one has even loved me, I need you to stay… I cannot give you up..."

"Then don't..." He breathed out, and a deep inhale raised his chest. "'Let me stay… I do not need the Halls… You are enough…"

She wailed, and then the door behind her creaked, as if in invitation, and she pushed away from him, and scampered, rushing to the door.

"Wren…" She could hear his weak voice behind her, but she pressed both her hands into the door and dug her heels into the floor.

"It will be alright, it will be… I will go through the doors, and will wake up! And you will be alright! If they are testing me, I am ready! I am ready to wake up!.. I will do anything to keep him safe! You hear me?!" She was not sure whom she spoke to, but if he was ready to stay here, she could not let him, she had to do what was best for him!

"Wren..." The weak voice of the King came from behind, but she did not listen, she kept on pushing, pouring her mental pain into the muscles of her arms.

"Damn you, cursed door! Open!" It did not, and she screamed in rage. "Make up your mind, you abominable thing! Either let me out, or let me stay! Common!" The leaves of the doors remained still, and she punched them with her fists, crushing her knuckles, and then rushed back to the King on the floor. "Thorin..."

"Wren, it is you… Your mind…You just have to accept it, my heart..."

"Oh, Thorin..." She sobbed, and it hurt so much that she bent in half. "It is all my fault, I have just realized that you will be gone… I am killing you all over again..."

"It is just old wounds, my heart. Do not blame yourself..." He once again gave her a shaky smile, his face wan, and she fell on his chest, crying desperately.

* * *

"How will I live without you?.."

"I was dim, zunshel..." She jerked her face up, staring into his face. "You were right, of course you were... You need your craft. You will stitch wounds, and deliver babies, and travel, and you will live… You have to live..."

"I cannot… Not without you… There is no me without you..." She was swallowing her own tears, bitter and hopeless, her hands brushing on his cheek, smearing his blood, his thick beard under her palms, and she met his eyes. "There is no me without you… I love you! I cannot..."

"Of course you can..." He suddenly smiled to her, widely, and her heart broke, from the trust and love in his eyes, and the crimson stains on his lips, and she sank the teeth into her bottom lip, drawing blood, her body quaking. "Of course you can, my little brave bird… You will live, and fight, and make your prickly little remarks..." She sobbed, and shook her head, but he slowly lifted his hand, and tenderly brushed the tips of his fingers to her lips. "That smart mouth of yours… So much mettle… So much will… A true Queen..." She could not hold back her weeping anymore, and it was loud, and she grabbed his shoulders.

"Thorin..."

"Do you dance, Wren?" His eyes were growing unfocused. "You feel in my arms as if you dance a lot… That lithe body of yours… So fluid… So fluid in my arms… So kindred..." His voice was growing quieter, and she stilled splayed on his chest. She could still hear the heart, it would not stop of course, he was not indeed dying. It was too late for that. And of course she understood, it was her mind accepting his departure, the reality of him being gone, of having been gone for the long two years, and for never being here… And having always been hers… Her Thorin, her King… Her only love…

Her Thorin…

* * *

Silence fell in the room, and she lay on his body, his even beating heart underneath her being the only stir in the Hall of Observance. She took five breaths in, counting purposefully, giving herself only that many, and then she pushed up and looked at his face.

It was serene, lifeless and wan. The noble features she had seen in the statue on her first day in Erebor, the soft line of lips she would notice in surprise, as if for the first time, every time her eyes would fall on it, the profile she saw carved in the white stone on his grave, and she gave herself three beats of her own aching heart, and she rose on her feet. She suddenly could not see anything from the tears, and the blinding pain that she knew would never ebb, and she sobbed.

There was no one to ask for mercy, no one to beg for aid. She was alone again, just like before him, and now... forever. First an illegitimate child, hidden away from people's eyes in the attic of her mother's house, then a tormented half sibling, soon after an undesirable young woman, she had always been just one thing.

Truly and utterly alone.

She swayed and stepped to the doors…

_You will be given a chance to say goodbye, amad… _Soft familiar voice spoke in her ear. _Come back here after you speak to Lady of __Lórien, he will wait for you…_

Wren nodded, only having strength for this one simple gesture, and pushed the doors. They opened effortlessly this time, and she stepped out…

* * *

_Ra adjini tada zasaziliki e... / I'll hope you'll remember me…_

* * *

...and opened her eyes.


	41. Chapter 41

**A/N: Stay with me, my duckies! I did ask you to trust me, right?**

* * *

Wren walked down a filigree stairflight, spiral and delicate, and was following a courtier to the dining hall where the breakfast was to be held, when she saw the boy, Estel, Lord Elrond's ward standing by the wall studying a mural. He turned and gave her a warm friendly smile.

"Lady Wren," his bow was low and graceful, and Wren frowned in unease.

"I am no lady, Master Estel. 'Wren' would suffice," she mumbled and felt blush crawl at her cheeks under the astute look of the boy's grey eyes.

"Lord Elrond addressed you as such, and though perhaps you feel so now, but you did not object to it yesterday." Wren saw from the corner of her eye the courtier accompanying her disappear in a side passage, and she assumed she was expected to stay with the boy. He was standing calmly in front of her, studying her, and she chewed at her bottom lip. He was only reaching her shoulder, but somehow he felt more imposing than any of the many Kings she had had a chance to have met recently.

"Yesterday I still felt..." She had no words for it, and she felt so exhausted that with apathy she just let the phrase hang in the air between them.

"Hopeful?" He supplied, and she could do nothing but nod. A joyless hollow chuckle suddenly burst out of her.

"That was so foolish..." She felt her eyes burn, they were red and puffy from crying in her sleep, she had found her pillow wet in the morning, and she swayed and sat down on the nearest bench. "Forgive me, Master Estel, I have not slept well..."

The boy sat down next to her, and she felt him watch her face. Wren closed her eyes, taking careful breaths in, but her often esteemed composure was no more and tears ran, and she had no strength to fight them anymore. The last time, she promised herself, she was crying for the last time.

"I have dreams, Lady Wren, special dreams..." The boy's quiet voice made Wren whip her head, her eyes flew open, and she sniffled ungracefully. "I do not wish for them, they just come. Lord Elrond says they are in my blood..." The boy steepled his fingers in front of him, his elbows on his knees, and suddenly Wren saw the promise in his features. A strong man, a warrior, a leader, a father, a husband… The jawline strong and lips in a stern line, he fixed his unseeing eyes on the floor near his feet. "I have seen you in them… You still have your role to play. It is not the end." He turned to her, she was lost for words, and he gave her a slight reassuring smile. "Have you ever met Gandalf the Grey, Lady Wren?"

"I did not have the honour, no," Wren shook her head.

"He always says that when there is little hope, it is still not no hope." Estel smiled wider, and Wren could not suppress a snort.

"Firstly, it is not quite proper grammar," she whispered to the boy, leaning to his face, and he laughed quietly, "Secondly, that sounds exactly the way I would expect a wizard to talk. In riddles and convoluted statements, but not quite stating much, besides the obvious."

"Have I not reassured you, Lady Wren?" The boy feigned disappointment, and Wren finally smiled sincerely.

"You have not, but I do feel much better about my complete despair now."

"Oh, one would think you are a wizard as well. That was an utterly convoluted statement." They laughed together, and then he got up and looped his arm. "Shall we, my lady?" Wren nodded, stood up and took his arm.

"We shall, my lord."

* * *

Wren could not wait the breakfast to conclude, she could not eat but felt refusing the meal would be an offense to Lord Elrond's hospitality, so she resorted to the trick children were so fond of sometimes. She moved pieces on the plate, breaking them smaller and smaller, pretending to have consumed something.

She also refrained from a conversation, but her hosts seemed to have picked up on her mood. Arwen and Lord Elrond spoke of the book Arwen had read recently, Estel made several perceptive remarks, and a discussion ensued, all three of them delicately leaving Wren out of it. She drank clear refreshing water of Rivendell and tried to distract herself from the unpleasant premonition she had regarding the meeting with Lady Galadriel.

* * *

Finally, Wren was shown to an empty hall, several large windows looking over at the falls of Rivendell, and Wren stood in front of them, rocking on her heels, in her common habit.

Strange numbness was flooding her, it was not serenity of a person who had reached their destination, it was insentience of one sustaining a wound too deep. The King in her dreams had been right, she had finally accepted his passing. It had been two years for the world, but she seemed to finally have conceived the idea last night.

King Thorin Oakenshield was dead. And the world went on. No one cared. The friends mourned him and said farewell to him, the allies found new confederates, the Kingdom recovered, the trade blossomed, nothing but a few volumes in the library and memories of those previously fond of him remained. There was a Hobbit rushing from his cozy home, who had buried his friend and for a short time his King, there were ten Dwarves who remembered him, and there was a broken white haired woman who mourned her sons and her brother, and there was an empty hall with the armour that hardly had seen any battle.

And there was one girl who promised herself she would stop crying, but knew she never would.

It hurt. It hurt so much that she sank her teeth into her lip, tasting blood, and the salt from her eyes, and silent sobs wracked her body, vomit rising in her, and she took a gulp of air, grabbing to a sill, steadying herself, her knees shaking, and then hastily brushing her cheeks and her wet nose with her sleeve, for once in her life not concerned with manners. Everything in her was quaking, she felt sick, her skin was as if being cut with many razors all over at the same time, her eyes burned, there was noise in her ears, and she tried to scold herself in her usual manner, but there was no strength even for that. Why did it hurt so much?

"Because you finally have something you have to give up, Wren of Enedwaith." The soft voice of Lady Galadriel came from behind, and Wren slowly turned, blinking her eyes, quickly wiping the remnants of her tears off her cheeks with both her palms.

* * *

Wren's first thought was that Lady of Lothlórien was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen in her life. Wren immediately felt small, dirty and a nuisance. The dark green dress that the Elves had given her and she could not help but admire, running her hand over the soft silken material, now seemed like an old rug, and Wren shrank. She had never concerned herself with her looks before, but suddenly something akin to envy stirred in her.

The elongated mesmerizing eyes of Lady Galadriel studied Wren's face, which immediately flushed, and violent shudder ran through the healer's body. The Elf's face was calm, and there was almost a half smile playing in the corner of her lips.

"Lady Galadriel," Wren finally jerked out of her stupour and gave the woman in front of her a low respectful bow. "It is an honour, my lady," Wren spoke in Sindarin, and received a small favourable nod in return.

"I have come to elevate your burden, Wren of Enedwaith," the Elven lady spoke, and she made a few slow steps, her glimmering white dress moving behind her in a long train, "I have recieved a message from Mithrandir regarding your quest, and he asked for my help. I have also heard the lament of your heart," she continued and stopped in front of Wren, who immediately felt even more intimidated by the height of the golden haired woman and the power radiating from her. "It is a strong heart, a large one, compassionate. You love ardently, and you are in pain. I have come to offer you advice, if you want it." Wren did not fail to notice the slight change in the voice of Lady Galadriel over the last words, some purposefulness sounding in the 'if.'

"I am grateful, my lady. I have been coveting it." Wren gave the woman another low bow, and after straightening up she saw the latter slightly narrow her eyes.

"Think carefully, Wren of Enedwaith. If you ask for it, I will give you the answer." Wren felt her skin crawl, in an acute premonition and in clear understanding that it was to be the end of her journey.

"The answer to what?" Wren could not help but stall. A surprisingly mischievous expression flashed through the blue eyes of the Elven lady, and Wren heard her exhale slightly, as if in a soft chuckle.

"The answer to the question you are so afraid to ask. I will tell you how to relinquish your dreams of the Dwarven King. Ask for it, and you will never see him in your dreams again."

Wren dropped her eyes to the floor. Through the shaking of her hands, her chest painfully heaving in short erratic breaths, through the feeling of helplessness and the understand of the utter significance of this moment, she suddenly managed to gather her will and raise her eyes.

"I do not wish to relinquish my dreams, I wish to help the Dwarven King. I have already been offered a drink to halt my dreams, it is not what I desire."

A soft affectionate smile touched the lips of Lady Galadriel, and she nodded.

"Very well, Wren of Enedwaith. So, ask for it, and your wish will be granted. Do you want to aid the Dwarven King and forever give up your dreams of him?"


	42. Chapter 42

**A/N: I've expected more emotional response to the boy named Estel actually :) I'm surprised there was no squealing. Or have I traumatised you too much, my darlings? **

* * *

**A/N: I have resurrected my Twitter (katyakolmakov), and I have refreshed my profile here in case you are interested in my other media. I will soon be available on Goodreads and Amazon.**

**Meanwhile...**

* * *

Wren wanted to say 'no.' Maiar help her, she did. She imagined asking for him to stay, to be with her, though only rarely and never in waking life, but together.

* * *

_The hall in her dreams would slowly fill first with necessary, and later trite things, furniture, and books, and then musical instruments he would play, an armchair for him in front of fire, and pillows and cushions for both of them to repose on, leading their conversations and exchanging kisses. Her mind was strong, inventive, she could expand the halls, a study would follow the bedroom, an armoury, perhaps even a kitchen. Her mind would give him hunger and thirst, they would share meals, laugh, and whisper, and occasionally argue, and she would be happy…_

_Years would go by for her, in quiet industrious service, her hair would grow grey, her body would grow frail and weak, but in her dreams she would remain lithe and quick, and just as he asked, she would feel like a dancer in his arms…_

_She would tell him of her travels, of what she had seen, of her childhood… Of her mother giving birth to her in the year that the man she was married to was absent in his trade, for being hidden in their attic for the first years, a shameful evidence of her mother's fall… Of how she was sent to her grandmother, a blind healer, to the outskirts of Gondor, and for the next few years the world was white, and clean, and fragrant of flowers and drying herbs, like the bleached skin of her grandmother's hands, her unseeing eyes, and the walls of her small house… Of how she was sent back, her heart broken for the first time, only to find out few years later that her grandmother had died a moon after Wren was returned to her family, and nothing were to be done… She would tell him of how she ran away from home, when she found a contract of marriage with her name on it, underneath a blank line, ready to be filled with the name of any man who would be willing to pay… She would tell the Dwarven King of her travels, of her studies of herbs and medicine, of the wounds she patched and babies she delivered..._

_And for the first time someone would listen to what Wren had to say…_

_She never had anything and never wanted anything, she was light, and travelled light, just a small sack, just a few belongings, if lost no tears were shed. _

_He was the first for her, to desire, to cherish, to crave…_

_She would become his wife, his companion, his partner…_

_His prisoner…_

* * *

_Years would pass, Springs would come, bringing singing streams and loud jovial birds, and he would not see them…_

_Winters would be cold, and she would shiver under her blanket, but she would find warmth in his arms…_

_In Summer children of Dale would play with kites, and Dwarves of Erebor would come to the market to purchase provision and bring their craft to sell, and he would not see it..._

_She would never have to worry of another stealing his heart, or the world not accepting their love, of the Khazad abhorring their association…_

_There would be no throne she could usurp, and there would be no place that a noble Dwarven maiden would have had every right to take if not for Wren… He would never have to choose between his people and a simple girl of Men..._

_There would be no children, if they were even possible…_

_There would just be the two of them... _

_Never separate… But never truly together..._

* * *

And though it was in his delirium, he did say she was enough. She had never been enough in her life, she had never been even needed, or at least desired, and even noticed much.

And whatever her doubts of self-worth and her lack of trust in herself, she believed and trusted the Dwarven King. He said he was choosing her, and that meant such was his will.

And yet such was not hers. She stood in the middle of an opulent hall in the Last Homely House West of the Mountains, facing the immortal Lady of the Galadhrim, one of the most powerful beings in Arda, and she took a deep breath in, calming her mind, slowing down her painfully beating heart, and she closed her eyes for an instant, accepting her destiny and the choices she had made, and then she looked at Lady Galadriel, directly, into her hypnotising brilliant eyes.

* * *

_Wren thought of his strength, of the massive arms, the powerful torso, of the scorching hands… Of the ease he could lift her with…_

_She thought of the swords and axes on the walls, of his fingers running lovingly along the blades, of the confident care he handled the weapons with, cleaning and sharpening them…_

_She remembered the grace of his movements, the swift powerful gestures…_

_The proud set of his head, the curved lips, so easily pressed in a stern line, the slight, hardly noticeable changes in his expressions, the twitches of brows and corners of his lips, years of upbringing shaping his character in what he was…_

_A man…_

_A warrior…_

_A King…_

_She thought back at his armour, at the drawings of the Dwarf named Ori, the heavy boots, the immense Elven blade, the heavy coat with thick fur collar… So much presence, so much physicality, so different from the man she saw in her mind…_

_What a torture it were for him to have so little weight…_

_She thought of his temper, of his mind, of his heart..._

_Loyal, tenacious, brave, resolute…_

_Cantankerous, overbearing, imperious, rash…_

_Tender, loving…_

_Her Thorin… _

_All of that, and so much more, so much of character, but no more..._

_King Under the Mountain, Lord of Carven Stone, Lord of Silver Fountains..._

_His duty fulfilled, and his reward awaiting..._

* * *

"That is what I came here for. I wish to aid the Dwarven King and stop seeing him in my dreams."

The words fell, grave and decisive, and Wren breathed out and sank on the floor.

It was done.

* * *

Suddenly a pair of graceful strong hands picked her up under her elbows, and she found herself seated on a bench by the window.

"I had seen your choice in your future, Wren of Enedwaith, but I know it could not possibly have been simple to make." Wren blinked her eyes, clearing her vision, as if returning to the world of the living, as if her heart had just made its last attempt to pierce the veil and rush to him, and was now back into her chest, aching and weakly beating, but now hers completely. "Especially for such a being as yourself..."

Wren whipped her head and looked at the Elven lady. Now that it was over, and she was certain it was, her temper was slowly returning.

"A being such as myself?" She asked clearly connoting she required clarification of this.

"You only venture into your travels in a sunny weather, Wren of Enedwaith," the tone of the Lady of Galadhrim was full of meaning. "And even if you do, you take your cloak with you." Wren felt a prickle of irritation.

"It is called precaution, my lady," Wren's tone was defensive.

"It is called being overbearing, child." Mischievous light gleamed in Lady Galadriel's eyes, and Wren blushed. "You cannot force life into the boundaries you are so fond of. That was why your decision was so hard." There was a soft reproach in the Elf's tone. "Had you refused, you would have had your perfect love. Safe, secure, sequestered. No doubts, no competition, no obstacles to overcome together…" Wren pressed her lips, her first desire was to rush and defend herself, but she listened and could not help but agree. "You cannot love, or live, that way. One cannot go through life wearing armour, especially around one's heart."

"Should one then bleed and ache? That is all that is left then..." Wren's voice shook, and Lady Galadriel smiled to her softly.

"Such is life for all beings. It is how you bear it is what matters. You, Wren of Enedwaith, have passed your test. Now, I will give you your answer..."

* * *

_"During the reign of the Dwarven King Thorin I, a splendid jewel was discovered under the roots of the Lonely Mountain. Nothing of equal light and opulence had ever been encountered by the Hadhodrim. With their skill and their passion the Dwarves shaped it into the multi-faceted gem that would play with all possible colours when met with a single ray of light. It had become the heirloom of the Kings of the Durin's folk… Also known as the Heart of the Mountain..."_

"The Arkenstone..." Wren breathed out, and the blue eyes of the Elven lady focused on her.

_"Yes, the Arkenstone. It was hidden in the Grey Mountains, and then brought back to Erebor, only to be buried in the piles of treasure under a fire breathing serpent. It was uncovered by a hobbit and given up to the Dwarven King's adversaries, only to be placed on his tomb in his last rest. It is shining its white light reflected from the Elven blade on the chest of the fallen King carved in the stone of his tomb."_

Wren closed her eyes, the image from her very first dream standing in front of her inner gaze as clear as if she had seen it just an instant ago.

_"Take the Arkenstone, Wren of Enedwaith, and go into the Great Hall of Thrain, the lowest hall in the Lonely Mountain. To the West from it leads a secret passage to the Back Door, through which just two years ago the company of Thorin Oakenshield found their entrance, and even lower, to the North of it, you will find a narrow tunnel, which leads even lower, into the very depth of the Mountain, underneath its breathing and living center, to the darkest abyss, where a narrow cleft opens, going down, into the core of our world, and a glimmer of some immense fire can be seen on its bottom..."_

_"Toss the Arkenstone down this split, return the Heart of the Mountain to its place and release the Dwarven King from the cage of your dreams. And thus, your quest will be complete, Wren of Enedwaith."_


	43. Chapter 43

**A/N: In the last few days I got ****two rude, one sentence reviews****, from two different readers, one for a new story, and another one for a very old one. And this morning I received a wonderful gem under **_**when the summer came.**_** The message in them wasn't that much off, but they were so non-constructive that all they could cause in a writer is either anger, or acute and debilitating anxiety, depending on the level of adaptivity. **

**I personally was not affected by them, but it made me think of how I would have reacted had I received them when I was just starting, and how such reviews influence those who are just at the beginning of their writing journey.**

**My message here is for those **_**who are just starting to write fanfiction**_**:**

**If you happen to read my story and ever get a rude, inconsiderate and sloppy review (why are they always sloppy?), make yourself a mug of some comforting beverage, come back to the screen, stick your tongue at it and tell the author of that review to go where the sun don't shine.**

**Fanfiction is our escape, it's our venting place, and our fantasy fulfilment place. We come here when we are sad, or lonely, or want to tell a story, or want for Thorin Oakenshield to live and find happiness. We come here to share stories, to cry, to laugh and most of all to have fun. The decent ones among us support each other, and encourage, and try to help, and if you happen to write something we are not comfortable reading, we just leave and find something we might enjoy more.**

**Keep on writing! Keep on trying! If you manage to ignore the disgusting format of that review and still accept the message from it and thus improve your writing, good on you! Well done! **

**And again, those who don't make an effort to express themselves politely and considerately don't matter. You, my darling writers, do!**

**Yours truly,**

**kkolmakov**

* * *

Wren sat on the bench, without noticing how Lady Galadriel left. She wondered when the pain would come, but it did not. She felt numb.

There was a certain relief in her heart now as well. Her path was clear in front of her, there was a task to fulfill, the obstacles to overcome, and the goal to reach.

Wren rose from the bench and walked to the rooms where the Dwarves had been placed the night before. Dwalin was sharpening his axe, which she suspected was more of a nervous habit than necessity, while Bofur was once again smoking with a blissful expression on his face.

"So, lass? What news?" Bofur gave her a studying look, and she sat down at a table, folding her hands on it. Everything in Rivendell was tall for her, but so it was for her companions, and it somehow made her feel better.

"We are going back to the Mountain, Master Dwarves. I have received my advice. I now know what to do." The Dwarves exchanged looks.

"Which is what?" Dwalin asked, his voice low and tense, and she met his eyes. There was sincere concern in them, and she gave him a small reassuring smile.

"I will need to speak to Lady Dis, and we will have to be smart about it, but I am certain we will succeed."

"What did the Elf ask of you, lass?" Dwalin continued to press, and in astonishment Wren understood he was worried for her. Warm affection towards the stern warrior flooded her, and she smiled to him more widely.

"Nothing dangerous, Master Dwarf. But I anticipate some disturbance among the Khazad regarding it, and I would not want to implicate you. It is best if you know nothing of it."

"Rubbish!" Dwalin barked, and Wren's brows jumped up in bewilderment. "We are on this quest with you. We will continue till the end." Dwalin glanced at Bofur for confirmation, and received it in the form of a firm nod.

"Just tell us what to do." Bofur's eyes twinkled. "As for disturbance, we can always ask Nori to give us a hand." Wren took a deep breath in and then spoke clearly.

"I will need to take the Arkenstone from King Thorin's tomb and throw it into a bottomless crack underneath the lowest hall in Erebor."

The silence hung in the room, and then suddenly Bofur barked a short laugh.

"Anything else?" He was giving her an incredulous look, and suddenly Wren found the whole situation rather entertaining. First, a squeaky giggle, and then a full scale laughing erupted out of her, and soon she was leaning back at the chair and pressing her palms over her stomach.

"No, I believe… this is all..." She managed between the bouts of her inappropriate frolics, and then she met Dwalin's widened eyes.

"Mahal, lass, what is funny?"

"Nothing!" Wren snorted and giggled some more. "Absolutely nothing funny, Master Dwarf. To think of it, there is nothing even mildly pleasant in it either. I would call the whole predicament aggravating." She just could not stop laughing, and tears ran her cheeks.

"Give her that, Dwalin." Bofur spoke softly. "She had been through much, and now there is only more to come." Wren wiped the tears and nodded to Bofur with gratitude.

"Thank you, Master Dwarf. I am quite alright now. We should start packing, I was hoping we could leave today. After all the Sun is still high."

"Today?" Bofur pulled the pipe out of his mouth.

"Yes, we have nothing to wait for. I have my answer, and we can set back on the road."

* * *

Wren found Lord Elrond in his study, where a courtier showed her to, and she knocked at the frame of the half open door.

"My lord, may I?" He immediately got up and invited her to sit in a chair across from him. Her feet were once again not reaching the floor, and Wren wistfully thought back at Lady Dis' study. To think of it, she had seen so many of them recently! The busy and cozy one of the King of Dale, the pristine, unhabituated one of the Dwarven Princess, the spacious and elegant one she was in now… She could hardly remember what her own desk had looked like, and then she reminded herself it was now gone. But the thoughts of where she were to live now, and more importantly how to live after she completed her quest, any planning of the sort had to wait. For the first time in her life Wren decided she would think of it later. She concentrated on her goal and on the conversation she was now leading.

"My lord, I came to express my gratitude for your aid. My companions and I are ready to start our return journey." One of the slanted eyebrows of the Elven Lord cocked up, and he gave her an almost confused look.

"I expected you to stay, Lady Wren, and wait for the arrival of Master Baggins." Wren twitched her nose in irritation.

"I do not see any need in it, my lord. Lady Galadriel had given me the answer to my question."

"Gandalf the Grey had invited Master Baggins to arrive at the same time as you, and as overbearing as wizards are from time to time, there is certain wisdom in their actions."

Low mesmerizing voice of the Elf was full of underlying meaning, and suddenly Wren saw red. She surely had never expected to reach the end of her patience thusly, but such was the end of it. It had perhaps something to do with Wren's complete and unadulterated exhaustion from being jerked and ordered around, repeatedly placed at the mercy of powerful men, Elves and Men, and Dwarven Elders, and beautiful Elven ladies.

"The nature of the advice I have received from Lady Galadriel tells me that my quest is to be completed without any interference from a wizard, or from a hobbit for that matter. I am to return to Erebor, and such is my intention."

Wren got up, and the man in front of her hastily followed her example. Wren gave him an haughty look, surprised herself by the confident pride she was feeling.

"My lord, it is matter of the Khazad. Others have no place in it." And with these words she gave him a low bow, which he graciously returned, and she left the chamber. She surely had nothing else to say to him. She felt his surprised eyes on her back, but she never looked back. There was a long journey ahead of her.

* * *

The Dwarves were ready by the time she came down to the front yard, and she set on the road. While following the narrow path leading to the mountains, Wren noticed on a hill not far from them two figures. Lady Arwen, Lord Elrond's daughter, was walking slowly, the boy named Estel accompanying her. They seemed absorbed in some lively conversation, and Wren smiled melancholically. The life in Rivendell went on, just like in Dale, or Erebor, or Mirkwood, while she came and went, carrying her burden with her, unnoticed or quickly forgotten, never leaving a trace and not taking anything with her.

"Alright, lass?" Bofur called for her, and she walked faster, catching up with him.

Three days later, after her turn on the lookout, she settled under her cloak and closed her eyes.

* * *

_Ra nî lomil tamhari, akhsigabi azâgê... / And if the night is burning, I will cover my eyes..._

* * *

Wren stood in front of the doors, her fingers tracing the carving on them, depicting an army of Dwarves clashing with monstrous Orcs, and she wondered what the inscription on the inside said this time.

Some melancholic amusement made Wren chuckle. Probably it was something pretentious and overweening as usual, "Cherish your beloved as their age is short," or something equally full of hot air. After all, it was her mind.

She wondered what she would find inside.

Would he be sitting at the table as before, over a volume or his blades neatly placed in rows near a whetstone and cloths?

Would he be standing right behind the door, just like in those two nights when her body finally knew his?

Would she find him on the floor, lifeless, his arms folded on his chest, in the exact replica of the pose of the white stone Dwarf resting on the tomb in the Erebor catacombs?

She thought of his smiles, of the crow's feet running in the corners of the astonishing bright eyes, of the scorching skin, and the tender touch, of the thickness and roughness of the beard, and of his lips sliding down her body. She recalled the temper, the impatience, and the humour.

Was it fair that they were given one more chance? Was it merciful?.. Or was it the worst of cruelties?..

She pressed her forehead to the cold of the door. She was not shivering, but everything inside her seemed frozen. It would stay like that forever from now on, she thought. It was the end, and to think of it she had accepted it.

* * *

Find and follow me on Twitter: **katyakolmakov**

Hashtag for "convince me the winter is over" is #convincemewinter

Let's make it happen, my duckies!

* * *

I'm starting the writing blog: **kolmakov dot ca.**

I will be describing my writing process, _Me Without You_ will soon be turned into an independent novel, and it will be fun creating my own fantasy world. Come on this journey with me!

I will show my oak and wren tattoos, will gladly take prompts and will just be happy to meet you, my darlings!

* * *

**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

Release date on Amazon:

July 15, 2015

Soon available for pre-order!

There will be **giveaways** on **Goodreads** and **Amazon**!

I'll keep you posted!


	44. Chapter 44

**A/N: Thank you, my darlings, for expressing your support regarding my previous author's note. And definitely a shoutout for those writing and posting! Look at you! You are being creative, and brave, and altogether wonderful! Well done, you :)**

* * *

"You are not going in," the voice of the one called Dain was surprised, but he was not asking. Wren turned slowly around, letting her eyes linger on his beautiful face, drink him in, and then she silently shook her head, smiling to him softly.

"I am not. I see no point in it, Dain." Wren turned away from the door completely and walked up to a bench by the wall. They both sat, and he threw a look at her from the corner of his eye. The gesture seemed so familiar that she softly shook her head. "It will be over soon, goodbyes just bring unnecessary tears. Whether he remembers me or not when he enters the Halls of His Forefathers soon, he will receive the honour he deserves, he will be greeted by his kin. His father will embrace him… Nothing compares to the embrace of one's father, am I right, Dain?" She gave him a slightly mischievous smile, and he chuckled, softly exhaling through his nose.

"When have you guessed, amad?"

"The moment I had a chance to stop and think." She half turned to him on the bench and brushed her hand on his large one, lying on his lap. "It is the same root in the word, in so many languages, 'emel' in Sindarin, 'emya' in Quenya... And honestly, how dim do you think I am, you naughty boy?" She cupped his face, brushing her thumb to the side of his chin, and tut-tutted. "The semblance is uncanny. You have his profile and his lips."

"I was told I look more like my mother," he laughed and leaned into her caress.

"For which I can only apologise," she laughed as well, but then her face grew serious. "Dain, son of Thorin… My beautiful boy…" His face wavered for the first time she knew him, and he pulled her into tight embrace.

"Mother..." His voice broke, and she brushed her palm to the silken waves at the back of his head, the coppered gold, so similar to hers.

They sat in silence for a few moments, and she sighed. She wondered whether he was only a figment of her imagination, a small consolation for her broken heart, or there was some distant realm where it had all gone differently and she bore this beautiful child. She moved away from him, softly untangling out of his arms, and shook her head. She could hardly imagine how it could have been possible, for that the Dwarven King would have to have lived, and how would such child then were to come? Surely, not from a marriage of a Dwarven King and a simple healer from Dale. Dwarven Kings did not care for the likes of her, unless they were forced in the circumstances where they seemingly had no choice, she firmly reminded herself.

"What will happen to you now, Dain?" She asked, feeling guilty. He was never to come to be.

"This is the last time I come to you in your dreams, amad. I have served my purpose." His noble face was melancholic, but not sad.

"You are my reasonable side, are you not?" She asked, stroking his hands, "The part of me that is intuitive and sensible..." He suddenly guffawed.

"You have not imagined me, amad. I am indeed here. I am the son of Wren of Enedwaith and Thorin Oakenshield." She lifted her face, frowning, not understanding, and he leaned in and pressed his lips to her cheek. "I will always come to your help, amad, even from the oblivion of never being..." His words were but a soft whisper, and she smiled to him through tears.

And since she had no one else to ask, and she could almost feel magic in him, some sort of ethereal glow to his features, so very Dwarven at the same time, she asked childishly, "Will he be alright?" Her voice shook, and she clenched her jaw to reign her crying.

"He will, amad. His trial is over," the one called Dain gave her a slow firm nod, and she closed her eyes in relief…

… and when she opened them, the bench near her was empty.

That was the end of Wren's dream travels.

* * *

_Ra adjini tada zasaziliki e... / I'll hope you'll remember me…_

* * *

Crossing the mountains this time was a much more arduous task. The Winter has stepped into its rights, they were met with one snow storm after another. Often Wren had to walk behind Dwalin or Bofur, their wide strong bodies shielding her from the slashing gushes of wind. She did her best, stubbornly walking, her feet sliding and slipping, often sinking thigh deep into deep snowdrifts. They were moving much more slowly this time, still walking the same path, offered to them by Amrod, the Ithilien ranger. It was still safer than their first choice, the old Dwarven route, which had led them into a trap last time, making them return to the Skinchanger's house.

In actuality, memories of that warm, cozy wooden house were what kept on pushing Wren to get up once again, after she would land on her backside, her boots full of snow, and march ahead. She was not the only one. Bofur would mention Martha's stews, and even Dwalin once grumbled that the beds in Beorn's house were soft and the covers warm.

For two nights in a row they did not manage to find a cave to take cover, and had to sleep leaning into each other, one of them keeping watch. These days Wren slept poorly. She knew there would be no more dreams with the King in them, she had been given her chance already. But these days her slumber was full of vague disturbing images, her mind restless and apprehensive in her sleep.

They finally found a small cave, and Bofur even brought some wood for a fire. The flames were crackling and hissing, the branches were wet, but the miniscule of warmth and the joyous bouncing of the flame tongues lifted their spirits.

"So what happens when you toss the cursed stone into the abyss, lass?" Bofur suddenly asked, poking the burning branches with a long stick. Wren rubbed her hands, her boots drying nearby, and she tucked her feet under herself.

"I assume King Thorin will pass into the Halls of Mandos, to the Halls of the Forefathers."

"And you? What will you do?" Bofur asked, squinting his eyes, from the smoke coming from the fire.

"I will go back to my service. When I was leaving, the Chief Healer said I could return if I wanted."

Wren lied. She knew not where she would go, but she was certain she would not stay in Dale. The most foolish of reasons was pushing her away from the place, which just a few moons ago she had wanted to call home. It would be too close to his Mountain. She would see its peak every time she were to come to the market square, or go to the higher districts, and she knew she would not be able to. All she would see when her eyes fell on the peak of the Lonely Mountain would be the white tomb she knew lay underneath it. The white tomb she had to visit in the nearest future.

Wren kept on staring at the flames with unseeing eyes. That first dream seemed so distant now, but was at the same time utterly clear in her mind. The torches burning on the walls, the figure of the Dwarven King, with the oaken shield intricately carved, as if covering his left forearm, and his Elven sword placed on the statue's chest, and the stone… The large white gem, laid over his heart, gleaming with every possible colour. In her dream the blade shone with blue light but she knew it would not when she came there. There was no danger approaching Erebor these days, nothing Orcrist the Goblin Cleaver to warn the Khazad about.

"So why was it you, lass?" Dwalin asked curtly, shaking Wren out of her memories.

"Why was it me what?"

"Why you? To go on the quest, to get wounded in Mirkwood, and then get lost in the snow, and now to rid us of the rock. Why you?" Wren saw both Dwarves suddenly study her, and she blushed.

"I do not know," she answered in a small voice. "I still do not know. I guess it was just a mistake..." Wren shrugged, and then Bofur rummaged in his bag and stretched his hand to her. There was a flask in it, and Wren accepted it.

"I do not wish to insult your offering, Master Dwarf, but I can only manage one sip. I am not good with brews..." She mumbled, and Bofur nodded benevolently.

The mead was sweet and thick, her nose filled with its flavour, it burned her throat, and she coughed frantically.

"Khuzd tada tabjabi d'ahlut yusth mud ashmur diya ins ubnanhu," Bofur suddenly spoke, and Dwalin nodded slightly. Wren was still coughing but managed to rasp 'Pardon?'

"That was what you spoke in your fever. But we figured it was Thorin speaking through you. He just kept on going..." Bofur's dark merry eyes were on her, and she squirmed on her spot.

"What does it mean?"

"A Dwarf that chooses to take a wife must guard her as his greatest treasure." Embarrassment flooded Wren, and she took another sip from the flask. Anything was better than withstanding the inquisitive stare of the Dwarves. "He seemed worried for you, kept on calling your name, and then you were screaming his." Wren then blindly pushed the flask towards Bofur and started fidgeting with the hem of her cloak.

"So was it before the Quest then?" Bofur asked more, and Wren lifted her eyes at him in confusion. "When you knew him… Was it before the Quest for Erebor, before we ventured for the Mountain?"

"I have not known King Thorin, Master Dwarf," Wren answered quietly but firmly. "I have never seen him in my life. Only in the dreams… Why would he ever?.." She started, and then shied away from her own words.

"Well, if somehow he knew what you could have done for him, the perils you went through, and all that for the sake of a Dwarf whom you knew not… Courage, loyalty, and stubbornness, what else would a Khuzd ask for in a wife?" Bofur chuckled, and Wren could not lift her eyes from her fingers, her cheekbones flaming painfully.

"I am just a girl, of Men, and no noble blood. Just a girl..."

"Blood matters not, it is how you spill it does." Dwalin's words hung gravely between them, and Wren finally lifted her face. "You would have done good. In Erebor, that is. The old would have grumbled, but Thorin never listened to anyone anyway."

Wren saw the features of the warrior soften, from the fond memories, and she bit into her bottom lip to reign her emotions.

"Aye, you would have," Bofur confirmed, and Wren pulled her knees to her nose and hid her face. She did not think so, but hearing it felt soothing. Her heart ached dully, and she closed her eyes.

Nothing would have happened. He would have ruled his Kingdom, stern but fair, in his deserved pride and glory, he would have wedded a Dwarven maiden and she would have born him sons. Wren would have never known him.

And yet, if asked she would have given up anything she had, her life as well perhaps, for him to have survived that day, November Twenty Third, Year Twenty Nine Forty One, when five armies clashed in the Erebor Valley. She would have done anything she could for him to never have known her.

Her nose was pressed into the rough fabric of her Dwarven travel trousers, quickly growing wet from her tears, and she let herself cry. From the smallest age she had learnt to shed her tears silently, others hearing her weeping was a perilous matter for her then, a punishment swift and cruel following it, and right now she just sat, her arms wrapped around her legs. The Dwarves remained silent, and then Dwalin rose heavily and stomped to the entrance to the cave for his watch. Bofur sat quietly, smoking, and shuffling glowing embers. Wren calmed down and feeling sleepy from the brew and the tears, she curled in a ball and fell into slumber. No dreams came.

* * *

My writing blog: **kolmakov dot ca.**

I will be describing my writing process, _Me Without You_ will soon be turned into an independent novel, and it will be fun creating my own fantasy world. Come on this journey with me!

I will show my oak and wren tattoos, will gladly take prompts and will just be happy to meet you, my darlings!

* * *

Find and follow me on Twitter: **katyakolmakov**

Hashtag for "convince me the winter is over" is #convincemewinter

Let's make it happen, my duckies!

* * *

**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

**(a novel inspired by my story on fanfiction dot net, **

**summary in my profile)**

Release date on Amazon:

July 15, 2015

Soon available for pre-order!

There will be **giveaways** on **Goodreads** and **Amazon**!

I'll keep you posted!


	45. Chapter 45

**A/N: PLEASE READ! **

**Important note regarding _CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER:_**

**The book will be now released July 15, 2015, both paper and Kindle versions. **

**Kindle**** version is now available for pre-order!**

**If you pre-order the book (only 3.99 USD) please go to my blog (kolmakov dot ca) and sign up under the book information. Everyone who pre-orders the digital copy, receives a 1000+ word story based on their specifications and posted on my blog. It can be fanfiction or not, any genre, and characters!**

* * *

**A/N#2: Still, no squealing about Estel?! It's Aragorn, my duckies! The Aragorn! :D Aragorn-I-open-doors-and-panties-drop, Aragorn! No? :D**

* * *

Their return journey was as eventless as it was labourious. Day after day they treaded through snow, mostly in silence, the bottoms of their faces covered with scarves. In the evenings by the fire the conversations were scarce as well, only Bofur would sometimes tell Wren a story or two about their life in Ered Luin and then Erebor, but mostly of the Quest.

Wren enjoyed these stories. Though there was dull pain in her heart, when his name would be mentioned, Wren loved listening of the adventures Thorin Oakenshield had faced on his Quest for Erebor. She especially loved the first third of it, and listening of how they arrived to Hobbiton, of the dinner Master Baggins fed them, of the trolls and of the goblin caves. While Bofur was speaking, and Dwalin smirking into his pipe, she could almost forget that she would never see him again. In those rare moments he lived again, and she smiled softly.

Having known his so shortly, she could still easily imagine how he would react to the events Bofur spoke of. She could just see the arrogant mistrust towards the Hobbit, she had experienced it herself, and she knew his temper and his attitude towards the Elves of Rivendell. Wren would snort when their later adventures would be retold as well, she could just imagine the indignation the Elvenking's offer was met with, and their dire escape in barrels.

The King's nephews were often discussed in those conversations by the campfire, and Wren's heart ached from the impossibility of ever knowing them. Kili, young, eager to prove himself, quick in mind and his bow… Fili, loyal, honourable, a future King… In such moments Bofur would often stop mid-sentence, and silence would hang above their small camp. Sometimes Wren thought she could catch a glimpse of tears in the eyes of both Dwarves.

* * *

They arrived to the house of Skinchanger late at night, and Martha opened the door. They were quickly ushered inside, fed a large dinner and sent to bed, like children. Wren just smiled sleepily to the mistress of the house and crawled under the soft blankets and furs.

That night she dreamt of the King, just a simple dream, blurry and hazy. The two of them sat on a Dwarven cloak spread on green grass on a small hill, there was an unhurried conversation, busses and caresses, and when she slowly opened her eyes in the morning, she remembered only one phrase. _You have to stop teasing me, woman. Self-restraint has never been among my virtues._

Wren lay still for a few moments, in the warmth of her temporary bed, trying to prolong the half-slumber her mind was swimming in. Perhaps if she did not move, the dream would linger. And then her sober mind asked whether the King would have ever acted so freely and flirtily had he lived, and the thought awoke her. She grudgingly climbed out of bed and went down to breakfast.

* * *

They spent a day and another night in the house of the Skinchanger, and left early in the morning.

The night before while the men sat in front of fire, discussing supplies, Wren joined Martha in the kitchen. They were packing provisions, and Wren felt Martha's inquisitive look.

"You seem different, little stoat," the woman's kind eyes met Wren's, and the healer sighed.

"I now know where my Quest leads," she spoke quietly, wrapping dried meat in a cloth.

"And that is why your eyes are all but dead, stoat? There is no life in you..." Martha took Wren's shoulder and turned the small woman to face her. "You should have gone with the Gondorian, little one. He would have taken care of you. Would have given you children..." Wren smiled sadly in return and shook her head.

"There are no children for me, Martha. I now know it has never been in the books for me..." Tears on her cheeks were hot, and she wiped them off with her hands, almost angrily. "Just death… Nothing but death..."

"But there were others, stoat. Were there none? Surely a good man would choose a healer as a wife, or perhaps one of them Stumped ones even. I have not heard of such marriages, but you seem to know their ways. These two are doting over you like a little sister." Wren heavily sat on a bench and folded her hands on her lap.

"It is not me they are fond of. It is the memory of their King. They are honouring him by taking care of me." Martha joined her and picked up her hand.

"And here I was thinking there was much in that curly head of yours," the woman suddenly laughed softly, "But here you are, thick as a tree trump." Wren whipped her head and stared at the jolly round face of the Skinchanger's wife. "This quest of yours… It is only yours, no one else's doing. All you did was your choice. And the choice of friends as well. Your King is dead, little stoat. They might have been honouring the dead before, but they are walking with you now."

Wren frowned. It was a new thought. It had never come to her mind to look at it this way. Given, she could only have ever seen her worth as a healer before, but suddenly she wondered whether what she had achieved in the last few months indeed might have been her doing. She looked back at the warmth in the eyes of the King of Dale, the smile on the faces of his children, sincere affection gleaming in their eyes. She remembered the cautious trust in the eyes of the Dwarven Princess, and the unadulterated admiration in the mesmerizing eyes of the Elvenking. She thought back at the laughter and immediate closeness she shared with a boy in the house of Lord Elrond, the boy who she knew would grow up to achieve immense greatness.

And then she thought back at the love and devotion in the eyes of the Dwarven King, and suddenly her breath broke, and she folded in half, clutching her tunic over her heart.

He had loved her. He truly did. Dead or somewhat alive, nothing but her dream or just his lingering ghost, whatever he was, he truly and wholeheartedly loved her. Suddenly everything swam in front of her eyes, and she would have fallen on the floor, if Martha had not caught her.

"Beorn!.." Wren could hear Martha's panicked voice through her haze. "Help! I do not know what is wrong… She cannot breathe..."

Wren thrashed in Martha's hands, rolled on her stomach and the content of her stomach spilled on the floor. She was heaving, the woman's large warm hand stroking her back soothingly. Wren rose slightly on shaking arms, more spasms curling in her stomach, and she coughed again and again. She knew now, and although she had thought it impossible, more pain bloomed in her heart.

She shortly begged for darkness, for a repose, not knowing whom she pleaded to, her head swam, her temples as if crushed between two milling stones, but no relief came… She was helped up, and Martha led her to a sink. There was no strength, and Martha washed her face as if of a child and sat her in a deep armchair. The Skinchanger, his wife and the Dwarves were moving in the room, but Wren could not seem to be able to focus enough.

She sat in the chair, her eyes closed, taking careful breaths in, and with the pain leaving her body, the relief brought clarity. And with it came peace.

* * *

After they left the Skinchanger's house there was not much of importance to happen to them. They travelled through Mirkwood, by the newly cleared Elven road, luckily avoiding the still lingering spiders and the Mirkwood guards. Wren suspected that King Thranduil was aware of their presence in his woods, and they were even perhaps watched, but their travels were uninterrupted.

When they arrived to Dale, they rented rooms in a small inn in the outskirts of the city, and having agreed to meet in the common room over dinner, they separated. Wren knew that the Dwarves had sent a courier to their kin in Erebor as well, and she expected the dinner to turn into a scheming meeting more than anything. She had a few hours before it, and she fell on a hard and uncomfortable inn bed, pulled a thin blanket over herself, without undressing, and closed her eyes.

It was such a strange sensation. She was back in the city that she had considered her home, and yet she felt like an alien. No one of her old acquaintances knew she was there, and no responsibilities were awaiting her. She recognised the smells, and the air, and the landscape behind the small window of her room, and yet she was nothing but a drifter now. She once again belonged nowhere and had nowhere to go. She felt her solitude more acutely that she had ever in her life. She had been alone her whole life, and nothing had changed now, but perhaps she did. With the end of her Quest lying in front of her, with one last task to fulfill, Wren felt she could see her goal, and she finally had found herself.

* * *

She did not sleep, but gave her body rest, and when the time came she got up, washed off, changed into clean clothes and went down to the common room of the inn. There was a back room to it, and the innkeeper showed her into it.

Inside she saw a large table, and she looked around the faces of those sitting at it. With the help of the drawings of the Dwarf named Ori, she recognised Bifur and Dori, sitting to the right from Dwalin, next to Nori, whom she remembered from their first meeting in the inn. Lord Balin was there too, Ori himself sitting to his left, frantically whispering something to Bofur's ear and immediately silent when she came in. She saw another figure in the corner, and when the hood fell off the face, Wren met the feverishly burning eyes of Lady Dis.

"She is indeed a twig," came a pleasant voice from her right, and she turned and met jolly eyes of Bombur. Somehow that seemed very funny to her, and she burst into laughter.

* * *

My writing blog:

**kolmakov dot ca**

* * *

You can find information on my upcoming book

**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

(a novel inspired by my story on fanfiction dot net,

summary in my profile)

**Release date on Amazon:**

July 15, 2015

**Available for Kindle pre-order!**

There will be giveaways on Goodreads and Amazon!

I'll keep you posted!

* * *

_Me Without You_ will soon be turned into an independent novel, and it will be fun to create my own fantasy world.

Come on this journey with me on my blog!

* * *

Find and follow me on Twitter: **katyakolmakov**

Hashtag for "convince me the winter is over" is #convincemewinter

Let's make it happen, my duckies!


	46. Chapter 46

The Dwarves had been arguing for an hour by now, discussing the guards around the Erebor catacombs, the ways to reach the lowest passages leading to the tomb of King Thorin II, and the escape plan from there, to the Western passage, towards the Back Door, and to the fire crack where the Arkenstone was to find its last resting place.

Wren listened to new and new schemes being proposed and rejected, and then the door opened and two more Dwarves came in. One, already familiar, was Oin, Wren had met him during her meeting with the Elders of Erebor, and he gave her a low respectful bow. She returned the grace in the form of a nod, and then looked at who she assumed was his younger brother, Gloin. She received a bow from him as well, and they joined the company at the table.

Oin and Gloin were the sons of Groin, one of the Elders of Erebor, and they brought more knowledge of how the catacombs were watched, and of the shifts of the guards. The discussion continued, more and more heated, and Wren quietly sat in the corner. She felt taxed, exhausted, the injuries from the Mountains ached dully, after a long journey and not enough sleep, and she felt groggy and apathetic.

"And I am saying," Dwalin barked and clapped his giant palm on the table, "We just walk in. No one will stop us. Thorin was our friend, why cannot we come pay homage just as we always do?"

"I agree with Dwalin," Bofur added loudly, "We will just throw a cloak over the honourable healer, no one will notice."

"And if they do, they will taste my axe," Dwalin grumbled under his breath, and Wren's brows twitched in affectionate amusement. Martha, wife of the Skinchanger, was right, the Dwarves indeed treated her like a little sister.

"And how will we get to the lower passages after that? Or you are planning to fight your way there as well?" Balin asked sarcastically.

"We will be asked to leave our weapons by the entrance," Gloin chopped air with his hand, "I have made careful inquiries. Those few who ever go to the tombs these days leave their axes and their swords by the door. You cannot hide honourable healer from them, she will be discovered that very instant." More loud arguing ensued, and Wren sighed. She looked around the Dwarves, and then she saw Ori whispering frantically into his older brother's ear.

"Honourable sirs," Wren's quiet voice suddenly made everyone grow silent, and she cleared her throat in acute unease. She was not used to being listened to so respectfully. "I think Master Ori has an idea."

The young freckled Dwarf blushed furiously, under the gaze of everyone in the room, and his throat bobbed visibly.

"We can create distraction. In the opposite end of the halls. The treasury is there, it would make more sense for guard to rush there, if there is a disturbance..."

"He is right," the Dwarf named Nori supported his brother, "There is no gold in the Halls of Thror, Dain would not care. And if the schematics of the mountain are right, the passage we are looking for is behind the birthplace of the River Running. We can take honourable healer there, while some of us create distraction in the treasury."

"That does not answer the question of how to get the stone from the catacombs," Balin pointed out, and more noise ensued. Wren thought in some sort of merry disbelief that they seemed to be incapable of having a proper discussion, they would start jumping off their seats, shaking their fists in the air, and she wondered if Thorin had had to bark at them from time to time when they would be especially rampant.

"Honourable sirs..." She tried quietly, and when they did not hear her, she raised her voice, "Master Dwarves! Please!"

Once again the silence fell in the room, and Wren met the eyes of Lady Dis. Some strange pain was splashing in the woman's eyes, and Wren gave her a shy smile. The healer had no right for commanding tone of course, but surely the Dwarves were not arriving to any sort of decision here.

"The Arkenstone is the heirloom of the Durin's folk, it is displayed on the effigy of King Thorin," Balin spoke softly. "Its disappearance will be noticed right away. Unless we grab it and run, hopefully fast enough, it will be impossible to obtain."

"Unless it is taken by someone who has the right to touch it," Lady Dis' calm voice made them all immediately look at her. "They would not search me, they have no right. I am the daughter of Thrain, son of Thror, son of Dain. I am the sister of King Thorin II Oakenshield." There was grave serenity to the Princess' voice, and Wren frowned in acute sympathy. "I will bring the stone to honourable healer, they have no right to stop me."

"Once the stone is destroyed, you will be to blame for it, my lady," Wren reminded. "I do not think your people will forgive you for it."

"I do not care," the woman's answer was certain and emotionless. "Even if it means exile, it will not change much for me. I can mourn my family in exile just as well." Wren took a sharp breath in. She understood Lady Dis like no one other. There was nothing but lamenting the dead left for either of them.

"Your brother would not want you to implicate yourself," Wren attempted the last argument.

"My brother is dead, honourable healer. You know it better than any. It is time he joins our Forefathers… And my sons..." Not a line wavered in the proud face of the daughter of the kings, but Wren saw the pain tearing at Lady Dis' heart. The latter exhaled slowly and lowered her eyes. "I forgave him. Now it is time to honour him."

* * *

It took another three hours for the plan to take form, parchments and quills were scattered on the table among mugs. The darkness descended onto the city, and Wren found herself nodding off, while the Dwarves were still arguing over small details of the plan. It was decided all preparations were to take place the next day, and Wren returned to her room. She did not remember falling asleep, or even lying down. Her slumber was deep and dreamless.

The next day was spent in acquiring supplies, half of the company had travelled back to the Mountain in the morning, having established what their roles were to be in their conspiracy, and by the dinnertime Wren found herself travelling towards the Front Gates of Erebor, wrapped in her Dwarven cloak, in the company of Lord Balin and Lady Dis, with Dwalin, Oin, Gloin and Ori, on the pony back.

A door in the side of the Gates quickly opened, before they have approached it, and Wren pulled the hood lower over her face. There were thick gloves on her hands, to hide their small size, under the cloak she wore several layers of clothes, giving her a slightly bulkier built, and all and all she looked like a Dwarven youngling. It was dark, clouds low on the sky that evening, and she felt the eyes of the Gate guard on her, but no one dared to ask any questions.

Oin, Gloin and Ori quickly separated from their group, according to the plan, while Wren followed Dwalin and Balin through passages. Lady Dis was walking in front of them, and soon they reached the entrance to the Lower Halls. Wren and Dwalin were to wait in an alcove near it, while Balin and the Princess were to go down a wide staircase, leading first to the armouries and cellars, and then to the catacombs.

* * *

Wren hid behind Dwalin's wide back, while Balin was quickly whispering to his brother reminding him of the sequence of actions they had agreed on.

"Do hurry up, nadad." Dwalin growled. "I remember what I am to do. Go." Wren peeked from around the tattooed warrior and saw worry splashing in the dark eyes of the white bearded Dwarf.

"Balin, maimlin!" The Princess whispered, and suddenly noise came from a side passage. The sound of several pairs of feet, stomping on the stone floor in heavy boots, appeared deafening to Wren's strained hearing and tense nerves, and she grabbed Dwalin's upper arm.

"Princess Dis!" A boisterous voice came from afar, and Wren stepped behind Dwalin again.

"Dain..." Dwalin breathed out, and suddenly he pushed his arm back, encircling Wren, in an unconscious protective gesture.

"Princess, I have heard you have returned from your visit to Dale, and Lord Balin is here as well, I see," Dain Ironfoot's voice was bouncing between the walls of the passage, loud and energetic enough to carry from the far end of the tunnel he was now marching through, in the company of several Dwarves, and Wren grabbed Dwalin's hand.

"Hold him behind as much as possible," she hissed to Dis, and the glacial blue eyes of the Princess, so familiar from Wren's memories of her brother, focused on Wren. Determination splashed in them, and Wren received a short firm nod from the Princess. "Come on," Wren tugged Dwalin after herself, and they rushed down the stairs.

From the corner of her eye Wren saw Balin and Dis straightening up, moving their shoulders close to each other, shielding Wren and Dwalin from the eyes of the approaching Dwarves, and Wren picked up speed. Dwalin was close behind her, and soon the loud voice of Dain Ironfoot stayed behind, and Dwalin was ahead of her now, he grabbed her hand, she allowed him to lead her, not knowing the path.

Armouries rushed by her eyes, shields, swords, peaks, pikes, maces, hammers and mattocks on the walls, armour and helmets, Wren rushed between the shelves and tables, a few surprised faces of the Khazad blurred and quickly disappearing behind her. Dwalin continued to drag her after him, she tried to keep her face hidden, and then they were in the cellars. Provision, barrels, sacks and bags, and more shelves, and crates, and even more barrels, they maneuvered between them, and suddenly there was a staircase before them, with narrow stairs going down, and two doors on their sides. Dwalin froze and started twirling his head left and right.

"Please, tell me you know where to now," Wren muttered, and he threw her a look from the corner of his eyes.

"Aye, I do, just do not know which is safer now."

And then there was noise behind them, and there was no more time to think. Dwalin jerked one of the doors, Wren darted inside, the warrior followed and closed the door behind them firmly but silently.

There was a narrow set of stairs in front of them, lit by one torch at the bottom of it, and cold lifeless air filled Wren's lungs. Down there, the Erebor catacombs were waiting for her.

* * *

My writing blog:

**kolmakov dot ca**

You can find information on my upcoming book

**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

**(a novel inspired by my story on fanfiction dot net,**

**summary in my profile)**

Release date on Amazon:

July 15, 2015

Available for Kindle pre-order now!

Visit my blog after pre-order to submit a request for your exclusive 1000+ word story!

There will be **giveaways** on Goodreads and Amazon!

I'll keep you posted!

* * *

_Me Without You_ will soon be turned into an independent novel, and it will be fun to create my own fantasy world.

Come on this journey with me on my blog!

* * *

Find and follow me on Twitter: **katyakolmakov**

Hashtag for "convince me the winter is over" is #convincemewinter

Let's make it happen, my duckies!


	47. Chapter 47

They had waited around the corner for the patrolling guards to pass, and then Bofur silently joined them, appearing from around the corner of the side passage.

"Where is the Princess?" Bofur asked almost inaudibly. Wren saw Dwalin answer in iglishmek, just a few simple movements of his fingers, and Bofur's eyes widened.

Wren met Bofur's eyes and mouthed, "I will get the stone."

"I do not fancy it," Bofur whispered, and Dwalin gave him a glare, trying to make him quiet. "Was Dain waiting for them?"

Wren quickly clasped her hand over the mouth of the Dwarf. The guards were returning from the other side, and disappeared in the further passage. According to Gloin they had half an hour before the next round. Leaving Bofur on the lookout, Wren and Dwalin walked towards heavy doors leading to the tomb chamber.

* * *

The crypt of Thorin II Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, was a spacious dimly lit chamber, exactly the room Wren had seen in her very first dream, with the tall ceiling, arching, with the centre points above the large tomb, carved out of white stone. The effigy of the King lay on it, arms folded on the chest, the left forearm clad in the replica of the famous oaken shield, Orcrist, the Goblin cleaver placed on the sternum, along the body. The face was stern, the semblance astonishing, and somehow Wren could not take her eyes off the familiar profile. She came for the stone, but could not even bring herself to look at it. Her eyes were roaming beloved features, from the prominent nose, to the soft line of the curved lips, and the only sound was her blood roaring in her ears.

"You have a quarter of an hour, lass," Dwalin spoke softly, but his voice carried, and they both shivered uncomfortably.

Wren nodded without turning to the Dwarf, and she heard soft steps. She was now alone.

Her body did not listen to her, but she was not certain what she even wanted to do. And then she made the first step towards the tomb, and then another two, and she only realised what was happening when her fingers touched the cold stone. In astonishment she saw her hand cupping the face of the effigy, and her fingers curled as if expecting to sink into the coarse beard.

"I am sorry..." She whispered, surprised to hear her own voice. "I am so very sorry… For what happened to you… It was unfair, and unjust… I wish I could have done something… It was so unfair..." Her voice died out, tears running down her cheeks, and she smiled with her lips shaking. "I know you hated every instant of it, but I was happy to know you… To meet you… And I was honoured… I wish I could have done more… I truly wish…" A sob shook her body, but she gathered her will. It was not the time to crumble.

She took a deep breath in and shifted her eyes. The Arkenstone, the Heart of the Mountain shone brilliantly in the light of the torches on the wall, and she stretched her hand and picked it up. The weight lay on her palm, and then she held it securely in both her hands.

She expected magic, some sort of a vision or odd sensation, but the stone felt just like any other in her hands. It was round, smooth, and cold, and she peeked into its center.

"What a nuisance!" She suddenly snorted and looked at the face of the stone King. "Is this what it was all about? You surely could have placed your love onto a more worthy object. But again, what is one to expect from men..." She shook her head and pushed the stone into her bag, slung around her shoulder.

She decided she would allow herself one last moment of weakness, and she leaned in and pressed her forehead to the forehead of the semblance of the man she loved. It was cold and did not bring relief.

"Farewell, my love," her lips pronounced, but no sound came.

She sank teeth into her bottom lip and marched out of the crypt without looking back. Dwalin waited her outside of the heavy doors, and they hastily walked towards where Bofur was waiting for them.

* * *

They were quickly maneuvering through intricately weaved passages, avoiding places where they could be seen, and several minutes later they reached the point where they were to meet with Oin and Gloin. The older Dwarf held a large key in his hand, Wren knew it was to allow them into the Hall of Thror.

"Where is Balin and the Princess?" Gloin asked, looking behind Wren and her companions.

"They were held behind. Dain was by the entrance to the Lower Halls. He was looking for them," Dwalin grumbled, and other Dwarves looked at him in shock.

"What?" Gloin hissed, still keeping his voice down. "Was he expecting us? Have we been betrayed?" Dwalin rolled his eyes, clearly signalling that he thought Gloin to be dramatic.

"How would he know? He suspects something, I reckon, but not more than this," Bofur shook his head.

"They did go to Dale, and all of us too. Dain is no fool," Oin added. "He clealy knows we are up to something."

"Which only means we need to haste," Wren said firmly, and the Dwarves nodded their heads.

They proceeded according to their plan, going down, lower and lower, until they reached the chambers surrounding the Hall of Thror. Bombur was already waiting for them there, having brought ropes they would need for going down the passage Lady Galadriel had sent Wren into.

The rumble from the explosion of Balin's flashfire pots in the farthest from them Halls of Erebor reached them in two waves, first the walls shook and Wren unconsciously grabbed Dwalin's forearm, and then another noise came. Since they were all standing quietly in a small nook, everything sounded deafening to Wren, but then she realised that was just the sound of many heavy Dwarven boots on the stone floor. Wren looked at Bofur and saw mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

"Bifur had always been good with a making a bang," the Dwarf grinned, and Wren snorted. "And I bet Dori is covering Ori's ears right now."

"They all will still be deaf for a few days," Oin grumbled, and Wren could not suppress giggles. The old Dwarf looked at her, and to her shock he gave her a playful wink.

It had been a few minutes after the last crowd of the guards rushed by the alcove they were hiding in, and they assumed it was safe to come out. Gloin rushed to the doors to the Hall, the key turned in the keyhole, and they came in.

* * *

Before the attack of Smaug the Hall had been used for festivities, but after the Mountain had been reclaimed, it had stayed unhabituated. It was clean and cold, and they hastily crossed it.

The door to the passage seemingly had not been opened for years, and they stood in front of it, waiting for Nori as it had been agreed. There was no keyhole, but after having studied the schematics, which he had managed to obtain from the loremasters, without their knowing as Wren suspected, Nori assured the company he would be able to open the door.

"He is supposed to be here by now," Gloin mumbled, and Bofur shushed him.

Wren stood, looking around the Hall. Somehow a strange thought came to her mind. Most likely it was the last time she were to see the inside of the Dwarven Kingdom. At the end of the passage she would throw the Heart of the Mountain into a fiery abyss, she would release the Dwarven King from his prison in her mind, and then she would leave. According to the old plans of these halls there was an exit on the other side of the chamber with the crevice. It would take Wren to the passage to the Back Door, the very one that Thorin Oakenshield and his company walked through almost three years ago. It was agreed that Dwalin and Bofur were to accompany her on her way out, back to the inn at the outskirts of Dale. What she was to do after that, Wren knew not. Somehow it seems unimportant. She pushed her hand down the bag and her fingertips brushed on the cold smoothness of the Arkenstone. Perhaps she was foolish not to plan ahead, but she just concentrated on her task. Once it was done, she would think.

* * *

The door to the Hall of Thror opened, and a group of Dwarves entered. Wren's eyes darted between them, quickly catching details, her heart starting its painful race. Dain Ironfoot was the first one to enter, five guards behind him, two more leading Nori, his upper arms securely grasped, he was limping.

"And what do we have here?" The voice of the red haired King Under the Mountain sounded almost merry. "First, you blow up my Mountain, and then I catch this bugger sneaking into the Great Chamber of Thror. And who is this?" He pointed his finger at Wren, and Dwalin stepped in front of her. Everyone was silent, and Wren held her breath.

"There are only eight of them," Wren heard Bofur's whisper, and she saw the Dwarves exchanging glances. "The rest are probably still heading to the treasury..."

"Will I get an answer today, laddies?" Dain Ironfoot raised his voice, and Wren saw Bombur pull out his battle axes from the scabbard on his back.

"I am not fighting my King..." Gloin hissed.

"Then you are on the wrong side of the room," Oin spoke in a calm voice and swirled his staff deftly. "I will go softly on you, nadad." Wren saw Gloin's jaw slack, and then he shook his head.

"I will regret this." His walking axe slid out of the scabbard with a soft noise. "We need Nori to open the door."

"Stand behind me, lass," Bofur took Wren's shoulder and pulled her towards him.

Wren obeyed and pressed the bag to her chest. The guards of Dain Ironfoot moved first, their blades still not bared, slight surprise on their faces, as if they were still wondering what they were to do once they reached the renown companions of Thorin Oakenshield, until the first one of them flew away from Dwalin, son of Fundin, with the screeching noise of armour scraping on the stone floor.

"Get them!" Dain hollered and rushed ahead. Wren saw Gloin twirl his staff around him, and with a roar Gloin lunged on the guards holding Nori. Wren made a few steps backwards, pressing her back into the door, the bag with the Arkenstone clutched in her hands and to her chest.

* * *

My writing blog:

**kolmakov dot ca**

* * *

You can find information on my upcoming book

**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

**(a novel inspired by my story on fanfiction dot net, **

**summary in my profile)**

Release date on Amazon:

July 15, 2015

Available for Kindle pre-order now!

Visit my blog after pre-order to submit a request for your exclusive 1000+ word story!

There will be **giveaways** on **Goodreads** and **Amazon**!

I'll keep you posted!

* * *

_Me Without You_ will soon be turned into an independent novel, and it will be fun to create my own fantasy world.

Come on this journey with me on my blog!

* * *

Find and follow me on Twitter: **katyakolmakov**

Hashtag for "convince me the winter is over" is #convincemewinter

Let's make it happen, my duckies!


	48. Chapter 48

Wren wondered why the Dwarves were even fighting. In her understanding it had everything to do with their short temper and inability to listen, and nothing to do with any of the sides even knowing what the reason was. She had experienced enough of it from the Dwarf she had been most intimately familiar, and all she could do was to shake her head and pray to Maiar none of them sustained irreparable damage.

One of the guards of Dain Ironfoot flew across the room, his breastplate almost cracked by the blow of Oin's staff, and Wren saw Dwalin lunge on the other one, who hastily released Nori's arm.

Bofur was laughing loudly, placing a sensitive blow of the dull end of his pike-hammer at the back of another guard, toppling him over.

Nori was suddenly right in front of Wren, and she saw him pulling out a small bag with his tools from behind his belt.

"Master Nori, surely there were other ways..."

"Oh give them their fun, lass," Nori smiled widely with his bloodied lips, a clear print of a large fist blooming on his jaw, "We have not seen any gambol in two years." Wren felt her jaw slack. He was bleeding, but looked endlessly pleased.

"But the stone..." Wren started only to be shushed by the Dwarf, already on his knees in front of a keyhole that Wren had not seen appearing.

"Do not mention it. For all Dain knows we are sneaking the mistress of King of Dale into Erebor to spy on our treasury."

"What?" Wren squeaked, and the Dwarf gave her another grin.

"I might have gotten carried away paltering Dain into bringing me here." Wren pressed her bag tighter to her chest and prayed to Maiar more industriously.

* * *

The door clicked, and Nori rushed inside, grabbing her hand and pulling her after him. She had but a single moment to see the tussle behind her, Dwalin roaring, two guards hanging on him, Dain cutting Oin and Bofur under their feet with one swing of his axe, Wren noticed that the blade avoided both Dwarves, Oin was on the ground, two guards trying to restrain him, and then the door shut behind her with a loud clank. But not before Bombur squeezed into it.

The three of them stood in the dark, and then some noise came, and a lamp lit up. Wren saw Bombur's merry round face.

"We are missing a fight," he smiled widely to Nori, who chuckled and leaned heavily against the wall.

"The two of you will have to go without me, I twisted my foot like the last lulkh, running away from our liege."

Bombur clapped Nori's shoulder, and Wren suddenly threw her arms around Nori's neck. It was an odd impulsive gesture, but she suddenly realised that she probably would never see him again. She had no chance to say goodbye to the other Dwarves, he would have to receive all the gratitude and all the appreciation she felt towards the whole company.

"Thank you," she whispered and felt a large hand brush her back between her shoulder blades.

"You are not done yet, lass. Keep your gratitude for later." Wren only pulled him in tighter. There would be no 'later.'

"Farewell, Master Dwarf. And tell the others..." Her voice broke, and she took a deep breath in searching for words. Somehow she had not prepared any.

"It is all well, lass. We know." The Dwarf's voice was surprisingly coarse, and then he gently untangled her arms from around her neck. Wren took a step back and looked at him. A soft smile was playing on his lips, and then he nodded firmly. "Common, Bombur, time to go."

Wren turned away, blind from tears in her eyes, and followed the round Dwarf.

* * *

They walked through dark passages, yellow light softly swaying around his lamp. A thick long rope was wrapped around his body, Wren knew she would need it to go down a well, connecting the passage they were heading to and the chamber where the crevice was awaiting her.

"Watch your step, honourable healer, no one has walked this passage for ages. There is plenty debris..." Wren nodded though the Dwarf could not see her, and they walked in silence for several more minutes.

Just as Nori's schematics stated they found the well at the end of the passage, Bombur deftly tied a rope to the nearest column and after wrapping it around his middle he threw the end down into the darkness. Wren picked up the lamp he had carried before and made sure that her bag with the Arkenstone was secure across her torso.

She then turned around and gave Bombur a shaky smile. He opened his arms and she embraced him as well.

"It is alright, lass, quite alright…" Wren received another awkward pat on her back and stepped away from the Dwarf.

"Thank you, Master Bombur," she gave him a low bow, which he returned with grace in his round body, and she grasped the rope firmly, swung her legs down the well, and started slowly descending. According to the plans there were seven Dwarf heights between the level they were standing on and the narrow tunnel that would lead her to where she needed to go.

Wren was being careful, she had never had particular strength in her arms, and the rope was starting to burn her palms. She wrapped her legs around it as well. It was becoming harder, and she was watching over her breath, mindful of the strain she was placing on her body. For an instant her hands slipped, the fibers of the rope scraping on her skin, and she clutched at it, her legs squeezing it. She wore the same Elven travel attire she had crossed the Misty Mountains in twice, but even through the trousers she felt the heat lick her thighs from the rope.

After a few instants of careful movements she suddenly heard noise above. Wren looked up and saw lights flickering on the ceiling over the well.

"Pull it up!" She heard a distant bark of Dain Ironfoot, and suddenly the rope she was hanging on jerked. "Let go off the rope, potbelly!" The rope swayed, and Wren hissed. Her shoulder painfully met the stone wall, with uneven bricks and their sharp edges. "Let go off the rope, or Mahal forbid you will drop your little friend!" The rope was jumping frantically now, and Wren realised it was being wrestled out of Bombur's hands.

"Bombur! Let it go!" She yelled up, hoping he would let her fall down. She had estimated there were but two heights left till she would reach the bottom. Judging by the noise and the swears, the Dwarf was not achieving any results, and Wren twisted her body, trying to untie the rope from around herself. She struggled for a moment, and then let go of the lamp, letting it fall down.

She tried to surmise how far it was till the bottom and saw the lamp land and the light in it to die out. It seemed not that high, and she finally loosed the knot on the rope. It was now swaying from side to side, and she took a deep breath in, braced herself and unclenched her hands.

* * *

She had underestimated the height. And the rope that she assumed she had released from around her middle snatched on her right shoulder, pulling it out of it proper place, twisting her body, and she landed on the bottom with a short scream. The pain flashed through her arm and her shoulder, and she clenched her teeth and emitted a hissed swear. There was no feeling in the fingers, which meant the wrist was injured as well.

Gathering her will, she pulled her knees up and rolled on her stomach, cradling her injured arm. She scolded herself. Not only she had shown herself the last clumsy dimwit, she had also managed to injure her right arm. She was trying to understand how serious it was and with each instant she was feeling more and more concerned. The hand was cold, and Wren wondered if the arm was broken. A terrifying thought of losing dexterity in her surgical hand flashed through her mind, but she had no time to dwell on it.

"Get me torches… Ropes… What… Follow..." Wren could hear Dain Ironfoot's voice bouncing off the walls of the well, and she got up, swaying. She pushed the hand down into the bag to make sure the stone was still safely hidden in it, and relieved she hastily started walking as it had been discussed with the company.

She was grazing the wall to her left with the fingers of the uninjured arm, her head was spinning. There were also bruises and a few sensitive scrapes, and she shook her head clearing it. There was another door for her to sneak behind, and close after herself, cutting all possible followers away, and she pushed herself to walk faster. The tunnel was cold, and she felt her teeth grit. She had never been fond of darkness, but she continued her slow advance, recalling what the Dwarves explained to her she were to encounter. She was placing her trust in their judgement, which made her anxious, and yet she went on.

The door was small even for her, and Wren sneezed from the soft undisturbed dust under her feet. Her eyes would have been used to darkness by then, if only there were a single source of light. The blackness in front of her was impenetrable, but Wren knew what she would have seen had there been at least a flicker. Out of her bag she pulled a key Nori had obtained from an unknown source and holding it between her thumb and her index finger, she brushed other fingers around where the keyhole was to be.

At least something had gone without a hindrance in the cursed endeavour, and she pushed the key in. The lock opened smoothly and silently, by then Wren was hard to surprise by the craft of the Khazad, and she pulled the door half open.

She thought she heard some noise behind her, perhaps it was just her imagination and not the sound of Dwarven boots on the stone floor, but she quickly rushed into the room, and shut the door behind her.

* * *

Wren pressed her forehead to the cold of the door, exhaled sharply and turned around.

The hall in front of her was breathtaking. It was the epitome of Dwarven architecture, walls decorated with extraordinary carvings, thick columns supporting the tall ceiling. Wren could clearly see every little detail, as in its center, in the white stone floor lay the crevice into the fiery abyss.

It was uneven, as if indeed it was just a crack, like those one can see in the ground that had not seen any rain, ends narrowing, the middle looking as if the earth itself was opening from the heat and flaming light streaming from below.

There was another door in the opposite wall, the one she would have to leave through once the stone was tossed down. Wren walked around, trying not to look into the crevice, protecting her eyes, and she tried to open the door with the same key. It did, and she exhaled in relief.

Now she had a moment to ponder, and in a few careful steps she approached the opening in the floor. She felt the scorching air from below licking her skin, making her cheeks burn and her eyes water. There was also a low hum, as if pulsating through the floor and walls, as if blood rushing through the veins of the Mountain.

Wren pulled the Arkenstone out of her bag and stretched her hand with it over the edge of the abyss.

* * *

**A/N: Check out my new story**_** Letters to Your Heart, Axes to Your Scabbard**_**. It will be my next multi-chapter, once **_**Me Without You**_** is done (The end is nigh, my lovelies! Dun-dun, duuuuuuuuhn! :P)**

**There will be the equal amount of drama and angst in the new one, but much less dead Thorin (OK, no dead Thorin :D) She is going on the quest with him, he has loved her sister since they were children. **

**Come along, my duckies! We will have loads of fun!**

_**Summary:**_

**After Erebor had been lost, and the Dwarves had abandoned hope to reclaim the Kingdom of Moria, Thorin, son of Thrain breaks off his betrothal to Lady Dania, daughter of Lyr, niece of Dain Ironfoot, the woman he had been exchanging letters in secret for years. What happens when her younger sister joins his company on the Quest for Erebor?**


	49. Chapter 49

**A/N: 'Tis not the end, but it is indeed the beginning of the end. And as I have been looking forward to saying since Chapter 1…**

**WILL YOU FOLLOW ME, ONE LAST TIME?**

* * *

Wren expected a doubt. That one last moment of hesitation. After all, that was when she was to give up the man she loved, the man who loved her, the man who said he wanted to stay... She expected to waver and to want to keep him, her perfect love as Lady Galadriel said, safe and sequestered, free of obstacles and jealousy and danger of being stolen or ever ebbing... And yet there was only certainty. Wren opened her fingers and looked at the large white stone on her palm.

She needed to hurry. She could be interrupted any moment, the guards could be opening the door this very instant... She had a ridiculous thought that, honestly, she should be paying attention right now, focus on what was transpiring. It was after all the end of her quest, what she had been striving to achieve for moons, her task, her goal... But all she felt was the worry to be stopped, and she whipped her head and looked at the door behind her...

... and missed the moment when the gem escaped her hand. Suddenly there was no weight on her palm, and she looked at her empty hand in astonishment.

It was done.

She immediately looked down into the crack. There was fire roaring somewhere underneath, heat was coming up, and she thought she could see tongues of flames or their reflections on the sides of the crevice, and she wondered whether the Heart of the Mountain had reached its core.

Somehow she expected an explosion, or at least a disturbance, a roar, a hum, or a tremour... Nothing came. She had a ridiculous thought that perhaps the stone fell and got stuck half way down on some small ledge. But she hoped it did not. And somehow she knew it would not. But a preposterous snort escaped her. Lady Galadriel had been indeed vague in her instructions.

And then Wren jumped at her feet and rushed to the door in the opposite wall.

* * *

She walked hastily through a narrow dark passage, trailing fingers on a smooth cold wall. It twisted and turned, and she would stumble over some rocks on the floor. Once she even fell and scraped her knees on something sharp. She hissed a swear, she was never good at obscenities, and it brought no relief. She started getting up, swayed, and her injured shoulder met the wall.

"Maiar help me, pull yourself together..." She scolded herself. "It is no time to suddenly grow clumsy..."

She walked for about half an hour, and she had been feeling the passage to slope, going up more and more steeply, and then it sharply turned, and Wren was in front of a door. She pushed it, it was surprisingly unlocked, and she stepped out. And into the blinding light of the setting Sun. Wren cringed and shielded her eyes.

She was standing on a ledge on the Northern side of the Mountain, and she looked around. There was a rocky narrow path leading South, and she saw its other end reaching the Overlook. And suddenly she realised she could not think of any place to go to...

She could not go back to Dale. Maiar knew what fate befell the Dwarves who had helped her, and she would not despise them if they disclosed the whole story of the kidnapping of the Arkenstone to their liege if it could somehow relieve their guilt. And apparently Nori had told Dain Ironfoot that she was the mistress of King Bard… So, the city was out of question.

Wren rushed along the path, leaving the Mountain behind as quick as possible, and once the door was not visible anymore, she took another path, weaving among rocks, leading slightly the East. After several minutes of brisk walk she saw a large boulder and heavily sat on it. The shoulder and the arm ached, and she gave herself just a few moments of rest.

She thought of her needs and which were to come first. Her arm and shoulder were, and she quickly shed her doublet, tunic and the chemise from underneath. Having put the tunic and doublet back on, she ripped the chemise in ribbons with her left hand and teeth. The painful part came next, and Wren clenched her teeth and squeezed her eyes. She had done it many times on her patients, and twice on herself, she had had a fair amount of adventures in her life, but this time she was exhausted and seemingly still as if benumbed by what had just transpired. Instead of an assured brisk and forceful movement, in which she should have put her shoulder back in its place, she hesitated for the shortest instant. Instead of pushing her body against the boulder, twisting and letting the joint slide in the socket properly, she grazed the shoulder over it, pain bloomed, white and blinding behind her lids, and she sank her teeth into her bottom lip. She had enough sense not to be loud, but then her legs gave in and she slid on the ground. A half sob, half dry heave tried to escape, but once again she managed to suppress it.

She took a few gulps of air, fighting nausea, and then she got up swaying, quickly bandaged her arm, tightly around the wrist, blue and swollen now, and then made a sling for the arm. She quickly examined her bruises and scratches, the ones on the knees were soaking her trousers in blood, and then she noticed the blood on the shoulder of the torn doublet. She berated herself again for hesitation. While fixing her shoulder she managed to scrape it on the hoarse rock.

She started walking nonetheless, her mind working industriously, and soon she had her plan. She would go to the inn where she had had the scheming evening with the Dwarves, her saddle bags were there, and the room was paid for. She would not stay, she would quickly repack her belongings, making a smaller sack that she could carry, and she would leave Dale as soon as it was possible.

The inn was on the very outskirts of the city, she would walk around the city border, not to be seen. With her decision firmly on her mind, Wren hasted. She was also feeling rather hungry, and thus weakened, from blood loss and the emotional strain of the last hours as well.

On the other hand she felt almost grateful for the pain, from the new injuries and the old ones, from the Misty Mountains. They were distracting her, nagging and aching, and making her wince with almost each step. And letting her ignore the strangest and most terrifying sensation she had ever felt in her life. In those miniscule instants that she was not careful and would allow herself to dwell on it, she would feel nausea rise and her head swim from the most excruciating heartbreak.

Wren felt alone.

Until it happened she had not realised, but through these moons even when she was awake, there was a certain presence on her mind, some sort of a shadow of the connection to the world inside her dreams, to the Hall, and to the dead Dwarven King in it.

It was now utterly and irrevocably gone.

Wren of Enedwaith was now what she had been all the years that preceded her arrival to Dale. She was nothing but a scrap of a girl, just as the Dwarven King told her during their first conversation.

Short, thin, freckled and red haired, an unwanted child, an undesirable woman, a gifted healer, a traveller… Stubborn, know-it-all, prudent, cautious, incapable of taking risks… Or perhaps not anymore… Wren walked down the path, on each crossing choosing the path as much to the East as possible, trying to arrive to the edge of Dale where the inn was, and slowly with each step she was realising she was walking confidently.

Weak and starved, she nonetheless had a bounce to her stride, and through pain and splitting headache after the emotional turmoil, she suddenly understood that from now on and no matter what… she would be alright.

Her mind shuffled through possibilities and opportunities. She rejected Mirkwood, she knew she would be safe and perhaps content there, in the Elven Halls library, but it was too close to the Mountain.

She could go to the Beornings, she suddenly thought, and live with the Northmen. She would be happy to be close to Martha, they seemed to have kindred hearts.

Thinking of the Skinchanger's wife made Wren think of her friend Thea, and it saddened her. She made a mental note to write Thea a letter, explaining what had happened and where she was heading.

It was settled then, Wren would go to the Vales of Anduin, and with this certainty in heart she hurried on.

* * *

_Five moons later, late Spring_

_The Vales of Anduin, Northmen village_

Wren sat at her desk in the infirmary, quickly scribbling in her register. It was harvest time for many medicinal herbs, and she felt she was in a constant rush these days. Between two deliveries, several children having lung fever, and two men injured during a hunt, Wren could hardly snatch couple hours of sleep these weeks. She was feeling groggy and strangely uneasy, having spent the morning in the woods, baskets of the plants she had gathered still waiting for her in the back room of the infirmary. She felt irritation rising, she utterly disliked unfinished tasks, but she could not gather enough strength to get up and start sorting out the stems and leaves. Wren rubbed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. Her head was heavy, and her mind as if foggy.

A knock came from the door, and Wren invited the visitor in. It was one of the village woodsmen. He was a widower with three small children, and thus a quite frequent visitor to the infirmary. With younglings there were always colds, scratches and twisted ankles. Wren also knew that Martha, as well as several other women in the village, was harbouring a thought of marrying Wren out to him. There was no affection between the two of them, but he was a kind and pleasant man, and Wren felt they respected and liked each other. Wren would wave her hand dismissively when Martha would start her rather poorly veiled hints, but Wren could not say such prospect seemed that inconceivable. He was tall and large, massive arms, soft brown beard and a mane of dark hair, curling at the ends around his nape.

"Honourable healer, I came to pick up the balm for the youngest's chest," the woodsman's voice was raspy and pleasant. His youngest son was one of the children with the lung fever, and Wren nodded and got up to pick up the jar from a shelf.

The room swam in front of her eyes, everything grew blurred and grey, and she tried to grab the corner of her desk, but her fingers slipped, and she sank on the floor. Through the haze she felt the woodsman to pick her up, and then the world grew black.

* * *

"_Wren… Wren, ushaktul… Wake up..." _The voice of the Dwarven King sounded frightened, and she wanted to reassure him, to explain to him it was clearly just the fever she had caught from the children, after being weakened by the lack of sleep and wandering the forests in early morning, dew soaking her boots and trousers, and then she jerked.

He was not supposed to be here! Had she not fulfilled her task?! Had she not returned the Heart of the Mountain to where it belonged?! Had she not released him?!

"_Wren..."_

Oh no, not again! Wren thought, and once again fell into the deep dreamless slumber.


	50. Chapter 50

**A/N: So… I was going to 'squirrel' this one, and torture you, and maybe update some other story, but I love you all, my duckies, too much to do it to you, so here it is :)**

**Yours truly,**

**kkolmakov**

* * *

Wren slept, and in her fever dreams came. She was terrified to once again inexplicably encounter the Dwarven King, but all she saw were seemingly mundane events of the past five moons, how she arrived to Martha's house, most of injuries already half healed, but her body weakened, how it took more than a moon for the villagers to accept her, and how she had won them one by one.

The pictures, the sensations returned to her, the first child she received in her arms, the blood of an injured huntsman colouring her hands, the sated sleepiness after the Spring festival feast when she had eaten too much and even indulged in a half a mug of cider...

She could not say the village had become her home, she had accepted by now that no place would, but she had built herself a stable calm life in here.

The fever raged through her body, it felt as if a great weight was pressing on her chest, and a small part of her mind that could still make professional judgement told her the lungs were probably flooded, and that she was burning, but she knew she was in no grave danger. Her joints ached but listened to her, and she felt almost like a loafer but she allowed her body the rest it needed. She just needed sleep, she thought... It was all those walks in the forest, and the water in her boots...

A cool cloth lay on her forehead, and she smiled with gratitude. It was just her delirium, there were no blue eyes roaming her face. The villagers had light brown, almost golden eyes, and such were the irises of the young girl who was helping Wren around the infirmary... Surely, it was her hand wiping Wren's forehead...

The soft worried voices came, Martha's and Beorn's, and several others, and Wren wanted to tell them that she just needed to sleep, and have no dreams, but the blackness had already pulled her in, and Wren was asleep.

* * *

Wren woke up with a sneeze. She felt confused, bright sunlight was flooding the room, and she wondered whether she had slept in. She always got up before dawn, oodles of matters awaiting her attention. And then she remembered that she was ill, and she did not need to rush down the stairs into her infirmary, and could stay in her bed for just a bit more. She squinted her eyes in pleasure and snuggled deeper in her covers. It was mid-May and rather hot, but Wren loved her down filled duvets, of which she had two. She hid her nose under them, feeling lazy and sleepy, and then met the eyes of the man sitting in the armchair near her bed.

Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror was studying her, emotions splashing in his eyes. Amusement, cautious curiosity, and tense anticipation, so much and so expressive, all his feelings were reflected in his bright blue irises, while the lips were pressed into a tense line, and the brows were slightly lifted.

Wren sat up jerkily, the room immediately swayed, she was weakened and trembling after the fever, and she pressed her head to her brow, instantly slightly irritated by her own overdramatic gesture.

"Oh no..." She breathed out.

Myriads of thoughts rushed through her mind. Was her room in the village the new home for her dreams? Was she sleeping? Unconscious? Dying? Or… dead?

"Am I dead?" She rasped out, sounding somewhat hopeful. It could seem rather absurd, but out of many variants this one could be the most favourable. Were she dead, it would mean she had done well, and he had passed on into the Halls of the Awaiting. More so, it would mean that Mahal the Father of Dwarves was benevolent and they were given a chance to meet beyond the veil. Alternatively, she was back at square one.

"You are not."

As soon as he spoke she knew it was no dream. Her hearing was assaulted by the low velvet of his voice, deep, smokey, so much more physical than his voice in her dreams.

And then she noticed other details. The heavy velvet attire, still dusty from travelling, boots and the hem of his doublet dirty, rings and earcuffs, beads and braids in his hair, the slightly unkempt lower line of his beard, and Wren yelped and pressed her hands over her mouth.

The King was silent, watching her carefully, and she suddenly realised that just like her he had no words. All had been clear in her dreams, nothing was now.

"How?.." The one word fell off her lips, almost inaudible, and she then jumped out of her bed, for the first time in her life unconcerned with decorum, caring not that she was only dressed into a nightdress, and rushed to him.

She stopped in front of him, her knees almost touching his, and he winced away from her, still sitting in the armchair, and by the small jerk of his body she understood he was going to get up, but she had no time. She lowered her hand on his shoulder, and her palm met velvet and brocade, and she gave the shoulder two firm pats for good measure.

"You are… You are… here..."

"I am here," he whispered back, and she patted him again. There was even a sound when her palm met the material, and she noticed the heat coming off his body, and she shied away from him.

"What?... How?.."

"I am alive." He pronounced slowly, watching her face intently as if trying to see if she were joyous to hear it, but somehow she just could not believe it, and she stepped closer again and stretched her hand to him again. It was shaking violently, and she made a choked sound.

Her fingers brushed to the hair, and then the tips bumped into his ear. The coarse beard scraped on the heel of her palm, the second hand cupped his face as well, and then his face wavered, something snapped in him, and he grabbed her around her hips and pressed his face into her middle.

She thrashed in his arms, gulping air in short breaths, and pushing him away, and he released her immediately.

"No… What?... How?..." She was taking steps back from him, and he got up, lifting his hand in warning, but it was only harder for her to breathe, her knees were shaking, and she grabbed the bedpost for support. "What was it then?.. Was it all a joke? The Arkenstone, the Elves… Dain Ironfoot with his axe!.." Her voice was hysterical, she was almost screaming.

"No, Wren, please, listen to me..." She shook her head jerkily, a hiccup mixed with a sob fell from her lips.

"What was it all?.. I have done so much… I have been humiliated, injured… And all for… Nothing?!.."

"Wren, listen to me," his voice grew firmer, and he reached her. His scorching palm brushed at her shoulder, charring through the fabric of her dress, and she made another choked sound.

"Wren, I was dead. I have returned. You brought me back. Wren, ushaktul..." And on that appellation she broke, and with a loud wail she sank on the floor.

* * *

He was standing above her, his eyes burning feverishly, lips slightly parted, spasmodic exhales leaving them, and she saw his hands fist tightly. He looked lost, and she suddenly realised what she was doing.

He was here!

He was alive!

And breathing! In flesh!

She jerked, still on her knees, and grabbed his belt, pulling him down to her. He made a surprised snort like sound, but manners and propriety were the last thing she could think about at the moment. He fell on his knees as well, and she threw her arms around his neck and pressed into him.

It was vehemently different, and endlessly familiar, and so very much better than it felt in her dreams. She caught the familiar fragrance of the skin, and some new smells, of the road, and mountain air, and smoke from a fire, and leather from his scabbard, and she grabbed handfuls of his hair, heavier, silkier than she remembered, and she clenched her teeth, because she was not under any circumstances intending to cry! There was nothing to lament. He was alive.

Thorin Oakenshield was alive! And breathing in shallow breaths in her arms, and his hands were splayed on her back, and he buried his nose in her hair, and she sobbed, because how could she even control her tears now?

"You are alive..."

"I am alive..."

"Maiar help me..." And then she moved away, her eyes searched his face, it was still strangely tense, and she smiled widely to him through tears, large and unrestricted, running down her cheeks, and she giggled. "I hate Elves."

* * *

My writing blog:

**kolmakov dot ca**

You can find information on my upcoming book

**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

**(a novel inspired by my story on fanfiction dot net,**

**summary in my profile)**

Release date on Amazon:

July 15, 2015

Available for Kindle pre-order now!

Visit my blog after pre-order to submit a request for your exclusive 1000+ word story!

There will be **giveaways** on Goodreads and Amazon!

I'll keep you posted!

* * *

_Me Without You_ will soon be turned into an independent novel, and it will be fun to create my own fantasy world.

Come on this journey with me on my blog!

* * *

Find and follow me on Twitter:** katyakolmakov**

Hashtag for "convince me the winter is over" is #convincemewinter

Let's make it happen, my duckies!


	51. Chapter 51

**And quickly another one for you, me lovelies! :D**

* * *

"I am in my night gown..."

"Why do you hate Elves?" They spoke at the same time, and she pressed into him again.

"What happened? How did it..?" She mumbled, slowly realising the sensation of his body near hers, and one of his hands lay at the back of her head, his fingers tangling into her disheveled curls. And then she finally heard his question. "Lady Galadriel, I now realise when she spoke to me..."

"I just woke up five moons ago..." He started speaking at the same time as she started answering, and then they both grew silent.

"Pardon... Do speak, please..." She whispered, and he answered, also whispering back for no conceivable reason.

"I do not wish to speak..." She nodded, her temple pressed to his.

"Neither do I..."

"Are you betrothed to that Man?" He asked right away, and she snorted. Not from the content of his inquiry, she hardly heard it, but from his immediate desire to break silence. And then the understanding reached her mind. She moved away from him and peered into his eyes. If she knew him less, she would not have noticed the unease and embarrassment in his eyes. And then she wondered whether she could even claim having known him. And then a question had risen. Was the man in her arms the same man?

"How much do you remember from my dreams..?" She stumbled over his name, suddenly feeling uncertain to pronounce it. Should she have gone back to 'my lord?' The corners of his lips twitched as if in irritation.

"I remember everything, Wren, I was there."

"Were you?" She asked feeling suddenly muddled, her voice small.

"Are you betrothed to the woodsman?" He asked again, his tone grumpy, and she stared at him.

"I do not understand anything..." She spoke childishly, her voice an almost whine, and he frowned.

"Then just answer my question." The tone was familiar, overbearing and demanding, and suddenly she felt unreasonably merry.

"You are not answering mine." She looked in his eyes, and then saw the nostrils of the prominent nose flare.

"Are you enjoying my jealousy?" He snarled at her, and she was so bewildered by his sudden growl that her arms fell limp off his shoulders.

"Jealousy?!" It took a substantial effort from her to stop her jaw from slacking in shock. "I did not realise... And you are a King… And you were dead..." Her voice trailed away, she was reduced to ineloquent mumbling, and he started getting up.

"It has been five moons, Wren, and I would not scorn you, after all, I myself was foolish enough to tell you..."

"I did not think you would!.." She squeaked, and grabbed his sleeve not allowing him to rise. "Maiar help me, why can we not talk properly?!" Her loud question was full of exasperation, and he froze.

"I do not know… Perhaps I should not have come…" He muttered, and she gawked at him in utter astoundment.

"Are you mad? What else would you have to transpire? Me finding out about you being alive from rumours?!" He gave her a cautious look from the corner of his eye, still trying to look imperious, and she suddenly smacked his shoulder. "Where have you been for five moons?!"

The answer to her came in the form of a short and amused guffaw, and then he cupped her face and pulled her to his lips. Apparently he considered kissing simpler than talking. She full-heartedly agreed.

It felt different, and the same, and so much more gratifying. He was all flesh, and heat, and she leaned into him, arms once again around his neck, and at first his lips were hesitant and as if uncertain his attentions were welcome, but she readily opened lips from him, and he deepened the kiss. The taste, the sweet craving and hunger rising in her were familiar as well, but so much more intense now. She knew now that what she felt in her dreams had been just a shadow, a miniscule part of what he made her feel, and then she knew nothing anymore. She felt, and tasted, and touched, and her head swam, and she moaned into his mouth. He moved back from her, with a jerk, as if forcing himself to stop, and she saw dilated pupils and bright lips.

"I woke up in my own tomb and had to scream in it for a few hours until I was found..." He rasped, and at the same time she spoke in a rather indecent voice as well.

"I am not betrothed to the woodsman, I was mourning you."

He suddenly smiled widely to her, and she answered suit, but then she felt blood rush from her face.

"Several hours in your tomb?!" He shook his head, dismissing her terror, and pulled her in again. She readily moved her face to him, her eyes closed but immediately flew open again, and she winced away. "Dwalin?.. Bofur, and Nori? And the company! Are they?.."

"They are well." He reassured her, still pulling her in, while she was pressing her hands into his shoulders, trying to keep some distance from his tantalizing lips. "They are well, and very proud of themselves. They have saved Erebor for the second time." His voice was slightly sarcastic. Wren breathed out in relief, and then frowned.

"Oh I just hate Elves..."

"You keep on saying it, ushaktul, and note that I do not argue, but why?" A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, and she felt giddy and enamoured. Her cheeks were flushed, and she just wanted more kisses. It apparently showed on her face, since that was how he proceeded.

* * *

She was feeling rather hot already, and he was kissing the muscle between her neck and shoulder, pulling at the collar of her nightdress with his index finger.

"Why are we on the floor? There is other furniture in the room..." He mumbled into her skin, and she felt his other hand fist around a handful of her gown on her back.

"We cannot!" She squeaked. "Martha or Beorn could come in any moment!"

Suddenly he moved away from her and started laughing loudly and gleefully. She had never seen him like this. He dropped his head back, the irises hid behind black feathery lashes, and white teeth gleamed.

"I meant sitting down and talking," he straightened up and gave her a mischievous look from under a cocked brow. Her cheekbones burnt painfully, and she tried to hide her eyes. His index finger lay under her chin, and he lifted her face. "Though it is a relief to know that you do consider other activities, honourable healer."

Her legs grew weak and something fluttered in her chest from his flirtatious, sensual tone, and from the old moniker, and she assumed that it had just answered her question from long ago whether the King Under the Mountain could be free and playful.

"When did you arrive?" She asked shyly, and he pressed his lips to her cheek.

"Are you not going to use my name, ushaktul?" His murmuring was rather indecent, and his lips slid to her ear, which immediately burnt. She took a choked breath in, and slightly pushed him away from her.

"We do need to talk… Thorin."

"We could talk later..." A long arm snaked around her middle, and she was suddenly pressed flash into him.

"But Martha..." Wren mumbled, but somehow her head fell back, allowing him more access to her neck, and then a loud knock came from the door. As a compliment to the King's self-possession, Wren had to note that he first languishly finished the long scorching kiss he was placing on her throat, and then he moved away, rose and lifted her after him.

She suddenly remembered that she had been just ill, since she sagged in his arms.

"I think I need to lie down..." His face immediately lost the lustful expression and grew concerned.

"Mahal forgive me, I have forgotten. Of course, you do... You are so wan, and eyes are feverish..." Wren knew that it probably had more to do with the effect his busses were having on her rather than with her illness, but she suddenly felt so sluggish that she was grateful when he carefully placed her on her bed. He then proceeded tucking her in, as a child, and she caught herself eyeing him mawkishly.

He stepped away from the bed, not without pushing another pillow under her head, and quickly kissing her cheek, and blushing and stuttering she allowed the visitor entrance.

Martha walked into the room, with a tray in her hands and a smile on her face.

"I see you are feeling better, stoat. I thought I heard your voice. And some laughter as well." The Skinchanger's wife threw a pointed look to the King Under the Mountain, and he feigned haughty ignorance. "I brought you some broth, and the draught your apprentice made for you." She walked up to the bed and placed her large palm on Wren's forehead. "You are not burning anymore, stoat. But you gave us quite a fright. Collapsing like that, right in front of..." Martha trailed away, and Wren saw the King press his lips derisively.

"How long have I been asleep?" Wren hid behind the clay mug with the herbal draught, drinking and cringing from the bitter taste.

"Just two days, it is soon dinner time of the second one. Which reminds me, you need to go back to Beorn's house, wash off and be ready for the meal, Master Dwarf." Martha's tone was friendly but left no room for argument. The King opened his mouth to do exactly that, but the woman ushered him out of the room. "You have not slept the night, so afterwards you need rest." The mistress went as far as slightly pushing him towards the door, and Wren watched with wide eyes the King to first jerk his chin up and glare at her, she could not imagine anyone treating him like that, he was the King Under the Mountain after all, but he suddenly gave in and nodded.

"I will see you after dinner, Wren, if you are not sleeping," he muttered and left the room. Wren followed him with her eyes and then slowly looked at Martha. The woman's eyes were laughing, and Wren pushed the mug on the bedside table and slid under the duvets with her head.

"I do not understand what is going on..." She whined from underneath her cover and heard Martha laugh merrily.

"But you seem to be rather homey in this new circumstance of yours. Judging by how both of you had disarrayed clothes and hair sticking out like haystacks..." Wren groaned and hid deeper under her duvets.

She doubted taking even whole night to think of what had transpired would do her any good.

* * *

**My writing blog:**

**kolmakov dot ca**

You can find information on my upcoming book

**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

**(a novel inspired by my story on fanfiction dot net,**

**summary in my profile)**

Release date on Amazon:

July 15, 2015

Available for Kindle pre-order now!

Visit my blog after pre-order to submit a request for your exclusive 1000+ word story!

There will be **giveaways** on Goodreads and Amazon!

I'll keep you posted!

* * *

_Me Without You_ will soon be turned into an independent novel, and it will be fun to create my own fantasy world.

Come on this journey with me on my blog!

* * *

Find and follow me on Twitter: **katyakolmakov**

Hashtag for "convince me the winter is over" is #convincemewinter

Let's make it happen, my duckies!


	52. Chapter 52

Wren spent only as much time in her bed as it took her to drink her draught and her broth, and then she started hastily washing up and getting dressed. Martha was not trying to stop her, chuckling and even helping out.

"I would remind you, you are too weak for it, stoat, but I do not blame you… You have gotten your Dwarf back..."

Wren stuck her head from the back room, pressing a bath sheet to her chest.

"How did it even happen?" Her voice was breaking and hysterical, and Martha gave her an amused smile. Wren cared not how ridiculous she looked, she needed at least some answers.

"They just stomped in. Quite a lofty one you have gotten there. Forget that he can walk under the table and back! I was that close to curtseying, never happened to me before!" Martha's eyes were laughing, and Wren snorted into her washing cloth, bent over her sink again in the back room. "Good thing the burly and the merry have come as well."

"Dwalin and Bofur?" Wren raised her voice.

"Aye," Martha laughed. "Grinning from ear to ear they were." Wren once again looked into the room, this time pulling her dress over the undertunic. Her arm got stuck in the sleeve, and she wiggled and twirled like a pup chasing its tail.

"Dwalin was grinning?" She asked in disbelief.

"Well, there was a smirk," Martha chuckled and stepped to Wren. She helped her to untangle, and Wren rushed back into the bathroom seeking her brush. "You should have seen my bear's face. First he froze, then he roared and then picked up your Dwarf like a kitten and started shaking him. I was sick worried he would shake all brains out of your uppity grump." Wren could not help it and laughed loudly. "There was a lot of patting shoulders and ooh-ing and aah-ing, and yelling, and then the woodsman stomped into the Big House roaring that you collapsed… right into his arms, his words were." Wren choked on her laughter and blanched. "Light as a feather she is, he said, and so white and frail." Martha's voice was teasing and full of meaning. Wren slowly showed up from around the corner clutching her brush.

"Oh no..."

"Oh yes," Martha shook her finger at Wren teasingly. "He apparently put you into this bed by then. Good thing he did not go for unlacing the bodice. Your Dwarf sprinted from his spot, and I was not sure whether he was running to check on you, or was going to skewer poor Man like a quail." Wren pressed the brush over her mouth in mortification, but then she remembered she was not the only one to blame for this aggravation.

"You have been encouraging him! Do not try to retract from it now, Martha! You were inviting us both for dinners in the same evening!" Wren gave the woman a pointed look, which was met with a shrug.

"I thought he would be a good match for you, stoat. And you love his little ones."

Wren froze her fingers tangled in her curls, braid half finished. She did indeed. Two older girls and a small boy, slightly sickly, his mother having withered after his birth, the children were the main reason Wren had not resisted Martha's attempts to bring her together with the woodsman more often. Wren sighed, but then quickly shook her head. There was no point in pondering her future at the moment, she could hardly understand anything. And even if he wanted her to go to the Mountain with him… Wren sternly scolded herself, any plans or assumptions at the moment would be rather preposterous. She needed to collect her thoughts and find out more of what was even transpiring.

She appeared from the room, pulling at the hem of her best dress, and at the same time trying to tuck several already escaping curls behind her ears. Martha gave her a look over, and Wren blushed furiously.

"He had only seen me in the healer's robe, I just... I thought I would put on something nice... But why am I even trying?.." Wren suddenly covered her face, not able to hold her emotions under control. A strange choked sob shook her body, and she swayed. "Maiar, I do not understand anything… I have spent every night crying over him, mourning him, saying goodbye to him again and again… Every cursed night the same dream of that stone slipping out of my fingers, again and again… I am not ready… I cannot come out… And in this ridiculous dress..." She sobbed again and felt Martha's hand lie on her shoulders.

"Wren, look at me..." Wren shook her head, hiding tear stained face. She felt weak and out of sorts, almost delirious again, and she just could not seem to find the ground under her feet. "Wren, he came back for you. Dead or alive, you dressed in a robe or in a night dress just now, King or not, he came back for you. Do you want to see him or not?"

"I do not know… I am not sure I can..."

"And it is a good dress," Martha added warmly. "Makes it look as if there is something where there is none." Wren slowly lowered her hands, momentarily forgetting about her frenzied emotions. She gave the woman an exasperated look.

"There is nothing there, Martha. I am a disgusting twig, and now that he is back he can choose any woman he wants, and there will be some alluring Dwarven maidens, and I am just… me!" Wren took a deep breath in and wiped her tears with the long sleeve. There was a soft white tunic under her apron dress, two round brooches, each decorating each of the straps, everything according to the Northmen traditions. The dress was made by the village's best seamstress and Wren had worn it only once, for the Spring festival. "And Maiar know what he is here for. Perhaps he just came to express his gratitude for my fulfilling of the quest..." Wren was purposefully trying to avoid making any assumptions.

"And express it he did. You perhaps should cover that red spot on your neck with your braid, stoat." Martha turned Wren towards a small mirror on the wall and pointed at a bright love bite on Wren's throat. The latter squeaked, pulling at her plait hastily.

Martha headed confidently to the door and then threw over her shoulder, "Coming, stoat?"

Wren did not feel she had much choice.

* * *

The embrace from Dwalin was short, but Wren was certain something had slightly broken inside. She heard a warning from Martha reminding the Dwarf that Wren had just risen from bed, and the healer was put on the floor, only to be scooped into Bofur's arms. He twirled her around the room, and she laughed softly.

"Lass, never been happy to see anyone! First we thought you have fallen in that shaft, then Thorin came back, and when we found you finally, look at you! Managed to let some sniffles cut you down!"

"Bofur, put her down," Thorin's deep voice did not sound displeased, and Wren peaked at him from around Bofur's shoulder. He was giving the Dwarves and Wren a small smile, and she hesitantly returned it.

Everyone sat around the table, a young village girl waiting on them, since Martha was already too bulbous to rush between the kitchen and the dining room, and Wren was prohibited to get up, since she was 'whiter than a snowdrop,' according to the mistress of the house.

The small talk over the first plates of the stew was concerning the news from the Mountain, the Dwarves were telling Martha and Beorn about the trade and the flood, while Thorin ate in silence, his eyes intently on Wren, who could not quite meet them and continued poking the root vegetables in her bowl.

"So, now that you are back," Beorn's voice suddenly boomed, "Are you planning to steal my village healer?" Wren dropped her fork, with a loud clank on her plate, and stared at the Skinchanger. The King Under the Mountain met the yellow irises of the host with a slightly haughty, distant expression, and then nodded.

"Aye, Erebor needs healers too. And you have a good one here," Thorin placed another spoonful of stew in his mouth and chewed calmly, watching the Skinchanger's face.

"Do I now?" Beorn's hiked one bushy eyebrow. "And you think you can just come here and stake your claim?"

"I do not see why I cannot," the Dwarven King cocked his brow as well, and silence hanged over the table. Even Bofur stopped chewing, throwing looks between the two men, when suddenly Martha laughed.

"I wonder which one of you will be the first..." She drew out, rubbing her round stomach.

"First to do what?" Beorn turned to his wife, and that was when Wren rose on her feet.

"Am I going to be treated like a cow in here and bargained over and herded to where your overbearing selves decide?" She glared at both men.

"The first to face our little stoat's fury." Martha pointed at Wren with a wide gesture of her hand, and the King turned to the healer.

"Wren, our host has every right to worry about his village being left without a healer now, but surely..."

"Who says his village is losing a healer? Or is it somehow implied that I am now to abode in Erebor?!" She raised her voice, "Because I do not recall an invitation or more so, I do not remember consenting to it." The host of the house chuckled throatily, and she turned her burning face to him. "And I do not recall giving any promises to you, Master Beorn, regarding how long I am to stay at your service. I could wish to travel any day, and I do not see anyone having the right to stop me."

"Wren..." Both men spoke at the same time, in an indubitably masculine condescending tone, and Wren flared her nostrils. At the same time she heard Martha to snicker.

"Wren, sit down, let us discuss," the Skinchanger spoke quietly, and Wren once again whipped her head to him.

"Discuss? I do not see how my life and my decisions are anyone's matter and need discussing. I belong neither to the village, nor to… Erebor," she stumbled over the last word, industriously avoiding looking at the Dwarven King.

Wren straightened her back and thanking the hosts for dinner she excused herself blaming her departure on her illness and weakness. She rushed from out of the dining room, chastising herself. She clearly should not have come, she was not ready for facing the changes that seemed to be happening in her life.

* * *

**My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

**Twitter: katyakolmakov**

**Instagram: kkolmakov**

**See you there! :)**


	53. Chapter 53

Wren spent a restless night, through which her body still exhausted after the fever was demanding repose, while her mind would whirl, not allowing her an instant of peace. She tossed and turned, and in the morning she felt groggy, her joints ached and her head felt heavy. Her apprentice brought her a pot of porridge with cream and dried fruit from the Big House, and after thanking the girl and taking her draught, Wren sat in the small kitchen above her infirmary and was slowly working her way through her breakfast. The decisive knock at the front door came, then the bell above it rang, and through the open window Wren could hear voices coming from the threshold. Wren turned her face to the fresh light breeze coming through the window, bringing the smell of wet leaves and grass, after the small rain that had just stopped rustling through the bushes of lilacs in the backyard of her infirmary.

The voices from below rose, and she recognised the low demanding rumble of the King Under the Mountain. Wren had half a thought of cowardly staying in her kitchen and finishing her oatmeal, but then she got up, threw a shawl over her shoulders and hastily went down the stairs.

She saw her apprentice stubbornly glaring at the Dwarf, quite clearly having just refused him entrance, and Wren came from behind the girl and softly patted her shoulder.

"It is quite alright, I will take it from here." The girl was two heads taller than Wren, strong and lithe in her sixteen, and she threw a doubtful look at Wren. The healer smiled to her and then turned and met the eyes of the Dwarven King.

"Good morning, my lord." He gave her a low decorous bow, his lips pressed in a stern line. "Would you mind joining me outside?" Wren did not want to lead any conversations with him inside, the girl was a curious one, and whichever way Wren's life was to proceed, she did not need rumours to spread through the village.

* * *

They stepped to the yard, Wren shivered from the morning freshness and pulled the shawl around her shoulders more tightly. The King still had not pronounced a word, but then his cloak suddenly lay on her shoulders. She looked at him sideways and nodded with gratitude.

The rough heavy fabric bore the smell of the woods, the road, and the campfire smoke, as well as pipeweed and leather, and something indubitably his, the fresh spicy fragrance of his skin, and Wren sighed. Every instant they spent together, everything she touched or smelt, only reminded her of the difference between her dreams and that what was transpiring now.

She headed to a bench under a large oak tree and brushing off the water drops from it, she sat down inviting him to join her with a gesture of her hand. He followed, and they sat in silence. She was fidgeting with the embroidered hem of his cloak, he had his unseeing eyes fixed somewhere on the horizon.

"I apologise for my hasty judgement yesterday, Wren," his voice was even and hollow. She assumed he had practised the following in his head. "I should have asked for your consent and not decide for you… whether you are to travel back with me… We should have discussed it before I had announced it to Master Beorn..." The words were pronounced slowly, with difficulty, as if under compulsion.

Wren sighed again. His polite and seemingly considerate words brought no more relief or clarity than his yesterday's overbearing behaviour.

"I accept your apology, my lord," she did not sound any more lively than he did. She had had a whole night to think of it. She had had no strength left.

"I just thought it went without saying..." Clearly unprepared words fell off his lips, and she whipped her head to look at him. Muscles danced on his jaw, he was already regretting his careless words.

"That I would come back to Dale with you?"

"To Erebor! Why would you go to Dale?" He asked frowning. Wren returned the expression.

"What would I do in Erebor?" She asked stubbornly, and he suddenly made a distressed half growl, half groan like noise.

"Wren, what sort of conversation is this? Are we children? You are well aware what I am saying."

"I am not! I do not understand..." Wren exhaled in frustration. "And neither do you… All this is so odd..." Suddenly he chuckled.

"Well, I came back from my grave, and you robbed my family of its most precious heirloom in order to put me to eternal rest. 'Odd' is not exactly the word I would use." Wren could not help but give him a small smile. He after all was not wrong even a bit. His face grew serious again. "Wren, let us seize this palaver. What changed? It is still us..."

"Everything changed! You are alive! And not in my head! And a King!"

"I am the same man, and you are still… you." The King was growing impatient. "Are you not joyous I am alive and not in your head?" He gave her a grim smirk, and she clapped her hand to her knee in agitation.

"Thorin, what sort of nonsense is that?! How can you?!.. Of course I am. It is just that it changes everything..." She turned to him, trying to delegate her thoughts, and suddenly he snarled.

"Do you not want me? Now that it is different, do you not want to..?"

"To what?!" She cried out. "It cannot be the same! We cannot just… We cannot do what we did then. It was just the two of us, and it was not even true! Just a dream! It was… just a dream..." Her voice broke, and she hid her face in her hands.

She stayed still for a few instants, and then having gathered her will she straightened up and looked at the Dwarven King. He was pale, immobile, face dark and distant.

"So will you go to Erebor with me or not?"

"I cannot..." Wren breathed out, and his body jolted. She saw a grimace of pain run through his features, and she expected him to rise and leave. She doubted Dwarven warriors asked twice, but he remained seated.

"Is there another?" He asked, through gritted teeth, and her heart clenched. "Other responsibilities? Have you promised yourself to another? Or a service?" She shook her head, and stared at her hands. "What then?"

"I cannot… What am I to do there? To be there?.."

"My wife, Wren. You would be my wife." The answer fell gravely between then, and she gasped. His stone cold expression finally wavered, and he gave her an exasperated look. "I do not see what surprises you. Dwarves do not take such matters lightly, and we have already had this conversation. Before that night, I do not know if you recall..." His tone was venomous, and she groaned in frustration.

"There was no night, Thorin! It did not happen! None of it! And no, I cannot be your wife. It is simply not done! I have seen Erebor, I have seen its bigoted, narrow-minded reactionary ways! I was not allowed to come in with a letter into your Mountain! How do you expect me to enter it as a Queen?!" She only realised that she had jumped on her feet and stood in front of him, when she finally stopped speaking. She had also been rather loud, and now she clasped a hand over her mouth, panting and shaking.

"I expected you would be willing to tolerate resistance from my people for the chance to be my wife!" He growled sarcastically.

"Maiar help me, Thorin! You do not know me! Why would you marry me?"

"I do not know you?!" He jumped up on his feet and now stood in front of her, his eyes burning, black brows drawn together, and she winced away from him. "I know you better than anybody, Wren of Enedwaith. I have abiden in your mind! I have known your body!"

"You have not! It was not..."

"If you say it was not true, Mahal help me, I will strangle you!" He suddenly roared, grabbed her shoulders and gave her a good shake. "Why are you so intent on negating all we had?!"

"Because you had no choice!" She screamed shriekily into his face, and he released her. His arms hung along his body, and she jerked her chin up, in a futile attempt to hide the tears rolling onto her eyes. "You had no choice… Had we met... In your halls, or in the infirmary… Or… Had you lived then, survived the Battle, and met me in my service in Dale..." She suddenly found her ground and gave him a direct firm look. "Look me in the eyes now and tell me you would have spared me a glance."

His face was wan, his eyes roamed her face, and she felt she had found the right arguments.

"I am the woman who brought you back from behind the veil now. I have bled and went through a lot for you, and I am the woman who..." She stumbled over her words, but pushed herself to continue, "The woman you bedded, but had you lived you would have seen in me only what you saw in me the very first time we met. Just a scrap of a girl."

His own words, pronounced in the first night he had come to her dreams, lay between them like an impenetrable barrier, and she saw she won. Except it did not feel as a victory. She heavily sat on the bench again.

"If I go with you to Erebor, no one will be happy. Your people will hate me, and soon you will regret… I will be locked in a stone cage of the Mountain… And… You will hate me, Thorin… If not tomorrow, then in four years… I will become a burden..." Tears ran, but her mind was set. She could not lift her eyes, but she did not need to. Seeing him leave would be too painful.

"Be it your way," he muttered, and there was a rustle of steps, and then she was alone.

* * *

**A/N: Before you throw rotten vegetables at me, tell me Wren was wrong! If you think he won't lose interest in her, allow me to refer you to "Thorin's Spring" Chapter 4.**


	54. Chapter 54

**A/N: OK, I confess, I did want to "squirrel" this one as well, but what can I say? I'm a big softie when it comes to your feelings, my lovelies :) Here you go :)**

* * *

The Dwarves left a few hours later, and in the evening of the next day Wren found herself facing an enraged wife of the Skinchanger yelling at her in the back room of Wren's infirmary.

"Are you mad, stoat?!" Martha stood in front of Wren, pressing her fists into the waist, glaring at the healer.

Wren turned away from the woman and busied herself with the celery seeds she was grinding in her mortar.

"Wren, look at me! We have to talk..."

"We do not," Wren interrupted the woman in a firm tone. "I honestly do not understand why everyone feels the need to tell me what to do. Does it concern anyone how I live? And more so, does anyone have the right to decide for me?" Wren spoke as if to the mortar and then looked at Martha, who huffed in irritation.

"Do not show me your teeth, stoat. I will have this one to argue with me in a dozen years," Martha stroked her stomach. "I do need this stubbornness from you. I would expect you, of all people, to be reasonable..."

"I am reasonable!" Wren cried out and threw the pestle aside in irritation. It rolled around the table and fell on the floor with a loud thud. "I am being reasonable," she repeated in a much calmer tone. "I had a night to think it through, and such is my decision."

"The man came for you! He had a Kingdom to rule, and I am certain it was not easy for him to establish himself there again, having that red haired pest on the throne instead of him! And he came all the way here, King and all, and proposed to you! And you turned him down!"

Wren sighed and picked up her pestle from the floor. She twirled it in her hands and then went to the sink to wash it. Splashing in warm water, she industriously ignored Martha's stare she could feel between her shoulder blades.

"What was there that made you refuse him? You love him, stoat, do not deny that much!" The pestle once again flew, this time hitting the bottom of the basin loudly.

"Martha, why do you not want to understand?! I do not wish to discuss it!"

"And yet you will! I will not allow your fears and some strange ideas to destroy your happiness!.."

"There is no happiness for me in Erebor!" Wren yelled and stomped her foot. "You are forcing me to talk, but you are not listening! Of course I love him! I love him more than life itself, but I am not letting it rule me! If I went with him, it would destroy us both!"

"Stoat..." Martha tried to interrupt, but Wren had none of that. If the woman wanted to discuss, a discussion was what she would get.

"He does not love me, Martha! He had a few hours with me! I counted in my head, it would add up but to a few days! And all he knows of me is that I fought and bled for him. I went on a quest and sacrificed everything for him, I gave up my life, my service, and several chances for peaceful happiness I was offered on the way, for a desperate attempt to help him. How much in what he feels is gratitude you think?" Wren felt her cheeks burning, she stepped to Martha and was flailing her hands in the air, but there was no stopping her now.

"He is an honourable man, and for him it is all fresh and new," Wren continued. "I do not deny he thinks he is in love, but in his head he has only just met me! He knows nothing of me! In a moon or two, or twenty, he might grow bored, or irritated with me, my character, my habits… One does not build a marriage on this!"

"People build marriage on less," Martha argued, and Wren snorted disdainfully.

"Yes, they do, but do they have to also overcome all other difficulties right after their wedding? He would have to fight for me, every day, and every hour, against his Elders, his people, against the whole world that would judge, and abhor, and be confused why he would choose me… And would he find the reasons in his heart in a year or two? Or would he regret?"

Wren felt hot humiliated tears roll on her eyes, and she brushed them off in frustration.

"Do not tell me what I have given up, Martha. I know the price of my decision..." Her heart clenched, painfully, it felt as if ice spreading in her chest, and she gasped in acute ache. Dain, her Dain, her beautiful copper haired boy, she had brought oblivion upon him. Her thoughts would come back to him again and again through that horrible night she was pondering the sudden return of the Dwarven King, and the guilt for him never being born would remain with her till her last breath. She was adamant nonetheless.

"I made my decision, Martha. And do not dare calling me a coward, or unreasonable! I did what I had to! And I did it for him! He would hate himself when he regretted marrying me, the woman who saved him, the woman he brought into his Kingdom as his Queen. Can you imagine how tormented and miserable he would have been, had he grown to doubt his own choice? And what would he have done with me then? He would not be able to send me away, and what sort of marriage would we have had then? Hating each other, and avoiding each other in those cold halls?! I would have given up my service, and all I would have had in his Mountain is disdain from the people and guilt from him!"

"I did the right thing, Martha, and that is the last time we are talking about it." Wren once again turned away from the woman and started rummaging in the soap water looking for the pestle.

"Do you not doubt, stoat?" Martha's voice sounded lost, and Wren pressed her hands into the bottom of the sink, heavily leaning into them.

"I feel like I am dying every instant of every day, Martha." Familiar ache spilled between Wren's ribs, and she took a shuddered breath in. "But no, I do not doubt. And now please, let me go back to my work."

Martha shifted between her feet, but her silence was more eloquent than any words. Wren did not expect that to be the last time they spoke of this, but for now she seemed to have convinced the woman. Wren felt relieved. All she wanted was to busy herself with anything that would take her mind off what had transpired. She knew there was nothing to dull the pain, but at least she could have a moment or two a day of being distracted.

Martha sighed deeply and left the room, waving her hand at Wren in defeat. It was more than Wren had hoped for, and she went back to her herbs.

* * *

Three moons passed. Mid June Martha gave birth to a healthy large babe, it was a boy, and there was no end to the joy in the village. Wren assisted her at birth and in the first weeks after the delivery, and grew very fond of the Boerning. He was a loud and moody infant, strong and demanding, and it seemed that the whole life in the village was now built around him, and Wren's affairs had been long forgotten.

The Summer was coming to its end, Wren was constantly busy harvesting herbs, preserving for Winter, berries and mushrooms waiting for her in the woods, and her renown squashes bright and plump in her garden, ready for the Autumn market, when one morning a loud knock came to the front door of her infirmary.

Her apprentice went to open it and came back followed by the Chief. Wren was sitting behind her desk, scribbling with a quill in her register.

"Master Beorn, is something wrong with the babe?" Wren asked in worry, but the Skinchanger shook his head and sat in the chair in front of her.

"No, healer, everything is well. The Missus and the little one are healthy, and I cannot complain either." They smiled to each other. Wren could not remember a single instance that the Chief would feel unwell. She assumed it was his blood that protected him. He was as healthy as a bear, she would often joke, and he would roar with coarse loud laughter.

"I came to discuss a letter I have received, honourable healer." The Skinchanger fished out a parchment from a pocket on his trousers, and unrolled it in front of his eyes. "_Honourable King Thorin II Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain, Lord of the Carven Stone, Master of the Silver Fountain, thusly invites Wren of Enedwaith, Healer of the Vales of Anduin, for an official visit to Erebor, Kingdom Under the Mountain, as a humble bid to accept the gratitude for her heroic deeds in assisting the King Under the Mountain and the people of Erebor._"

The Skinchanger read, and Wren sat in her chair, only the soft sound of ink dripping from her quill onto the page was heard in the room.

"It just goes on and on," the Skinchanger spoke nonchalantly, his voice mischievous, "All wordy gratitude and asking to accept gifts and honours, and a feast is mentioned, and it is signed..." The Chief turned the parchment so that Wren could see. There were signatures at the bottom of the parchment, as least three dozens of them. "I reckon all their Dwarvish Elders have put their hand on it, and others, some of their most uppity ones, from the old families... The Company is here of course, but also Dain Ironfoot… I wonder if his arm still hurts after all the twisting Oakenshield has performed on him..."

Wren gulped and pressed her hand to her forehead, forgetting about the quill in it. The ink ran down her nose, and she heard loud ringing in her ears. Dain Ironfoot was not the only one whose arm was being twisted here. How would she be able to refuse such invitation?


	55. Chapter 55

**A/N: Remember that time I said there were only five chapters or so left? Yeah, that is not happening now :) The story unexpectedly took the recent turn, and it will continue for a bit more. I won't take it personally if you abandon the ship (hahaha, I am so witty *sarcasm* look at this majestic pun :D) but I foresee adventures of Wren in Erebor to take a while. Oops :)**

* * *

Two moons after, Wren once again found herself packing her saddle bags. After three days of agonising she had sent a courteous answer to the King Under the Mountain accepting his invitation, and in the next, no less official letter she was informed that a cortege would be sent to accompany her to Erebor.

This time Wren made a purposeful effort to pack for a short trip. Unlike her leaving Dale, when she had given up all her possessions, and her hasty escape from the same city moons later, broken and bleeding, with only one saddle bag of assorted belongings quickly stuffed and dirty, Wren took her time. She had discussed her future short absence with her apprentice, leaving detailed instructions regarding the herbs drying for Winter and her beloved garden. Beets and carrots were to be harvested, parsnips were already packed in boxes, but they might have been in need of being moved into different crates. The girl was to keep an eye on the apples and if necessary employ the village boys to pick them. 'No more than a moon,' Wren would answer when asked by the villagers, 'I will not stay away longer than that.'

In her bag she carefully folded meticulously chosen and cleaned clothes, tunics, apron dresses, her necklaces and earrings. Wren enjoyed the way the local women dressed, the earthy colours, the clay, glass and silver beads, the round brooches on the straps of their dresses. She had several pairs of shoes in her possession now, the village had an excellent cobbler. Dresses were wool or linen, simple, practical, but charming. Wren had grown into the habit of braiding her hair as the local women, into two fishtail braids, with smaller plaits weaved into them, picking up the curls around her face.

Several nights before the trip Wren would spend at dinners in one house in the village or the other. In the moons that had passed she had become friends with most women, having assisted them or having accepted their help. Some helped her to recover when she had just arrived, her arm was still giving her grief in rainy weather now, but then she could not move it at all. She was given a house, women helped her to settle. She had healed, delivered babies, grew fond of cooking some of the local dishes, learnt to embroider stallions, wolves and ravens on the hems of her dresses, and make bracelets and necklaces out of glass beads.

Wren had friends now, and her heart aches to leave them, even for just a moon, as she stubbornly kept on repeating to herself. Over an abundant dinner and perhaps just a bit too much cider women would ask Wren again and again to tell them about the Dwarven King, and Wren would blush and mumble.

The day before the arrival of the Dwarven company Wren realised that there was something strange happening. From the earliest morning she had an astonishingly immense crowd of people as if for no reason stopping by her infirmary. Some claimed just to say goodbye once again, some would come with trivial question they clearly knew an answer to. Some brought more supplies for the road, and by the midday Wren was close to crying. She understood the villagers wanted to make sure she knew she would be missed, and at some point she hid in her room upstairs leaving her apprentice to deal with the visitors. The bell seemed to be ringing without repose.

The woodsman came with his children, and Wren could hardly contain crying hugging the small body of his youngest.

"I am only leaving for a moon, I will be back by the first snow," she promised to the boy, but his eyes were sad, and Wren straightened up trying to smile shakily.

"See, little one, honourable healer will be back soon," the man stroked the fluffy hair on the top of the boy's head. The girls also embraced Wren, and then she awkwardly stretched her hand to their father. He held it in his large hands for a few seconds, and then the small family was gone.

* * *

By dinner time Wren was restless, having half her mind to quickly write a polite refusal to the King Under the Mountain and send it back to him with whoever was to arrive, when she heard loud voices outside. She leaned from out of her window and stared in bewilderment at the procession going along the main road of the village.

Ten Dwarves, in armour and with banners thrashing above their heads, rode into the village in a perfect formation, an imposing Dwarven captain in the head of the procession.

They dismounted and stood near their ponies, waiting for the Chief to approach them. They hardly reached the Skinchanger's waist but the heavy polished armour as well as straight backs and haughty stances made them a rather impressive presence.

Wren hastily grabbed her short coat from a chair and stumbled down the stairs.

* * *

The crowd was standing around the Dwarves, their captain still conversing with the Chief, when Wren walked closer. People murmured and stepped aside, the ring around the visitors broke in two, leaving a passage, through which she slowly walked, her cheeks burning and her throat constricted. The captain noticed her and bowed lowly. His warriors followed his example.

"Boin, son of Nar, honourable Lady Wren. At your eternal service." The Dwarf had a low deep voice and suddenly she recognised him.

"It is you… I remember you..." She breathed out and saw his body jerk. He took off his helmet, and she confirmed her suspicion. He was indeed the Dwarf who refused her access into the Mountain when she first had come to pass her letter to Lord Balin.

"Aye, I have been chosen for this… honour," the Dwarf muttered, his voice coarse, and she suddenly realised what was happening. It was his punishment, intricately executed by the King Under the Mountain. Sent to march through Autumn woods and fields, in full armour, to accompany an unassuming girl from Men, the Dwarven captain probably could not think of bigger humiliation. He would have to spend days and nights obliging a woman whom he had once considered unworthy of being offered a seat while waiting to be refused entrance into the Mountain. Wren thought that the King probably expected her to feel triumphant. All she felt was acute sympathy for the Dwarven captain. She returned the bow.

"The honour is all mine, honourable sir." Their eyes met and some sort of understanding ran between them. Wren sighed and walked back to her infirmary to pick up her bags. One of the warriors rushed after her, expecting to be the one to carry them, and she understood that the journey would be very, very long.

* * *

Wren was once again on the road, on the pony back during the day, and near a Dwarven campfire at night, but this time there were no lookouts for her, no cooking, no making coffee first thing in the morning. Instead she was tucked in and served upon, coffee brought to her when she would open her eyes, but not before she would wake up on her own accord. There were constant bows and offers of this and that but there were no conversations, or Bofur's stories, or Dwalin's restrained yet warm looks, and Wren would again and again shake her head mournfully.

This arrangement showed just how right she had been. He did not know her at all. Travelling with one or two familiar companions, or even alone would suit her much better. Being busy, being useful would be much more preferable to being treated like a porcelain doll by those would throw studying looks at her every time they thought she did not see, who would treat her respectfully but coldly. Wren would shiver under her cloak and her blanket, though she was provided with the excessively warm ones.

They had reached Esgaroth and then Dale at the end of the day, and the captain informed her in polite decorous tone that they were expected to cross the city and proceed straight to the Mountain. Wren nodded silently. Through their travelling she had been growing more and more apprehensive and just wanted this visit to happen and pass.

She could not refuse him, it would be an immense insult to his people but she did not want to go. She could not even pronounce his name in her head, although before his miraculous return she would fall asleep every night with it on her lips.

Wren felt almost angry now. By his dominating intrusive request she could not deny he was depriving her of her will. She had refused him once. She had expected a 'no' to be a 'no.' Did he think she was playing coy? Milking him for gifts and gestures? Wren would press her lips and sigh once again.

The city was quiet, light burning in windows, people starting their dinner. The rain had started a few days ago, and Wren pulled the cloak tighter around her shoulders. She would spend time in the city on her way back, she had decided. She had been exchanging letters with Thea through all this time, and they had agreed to see each other in a moon time. Wren would just have to survive this visit, and she would arrange her return trip herself. She would spend time with Thea and then go home, probably alone.

And then a sudden thought came. It had been a year and a half since she had come to Dale. It felt as if half her lifetime had passed since then. She remembered entering the city, looking for the infirmary. The day was sunny, she was full of hesitant hopes. Now, on a pony that did not belong to her, in the clothes of the people that were not hers, with an ostentatious Dwarven cloak on her shoulders, she felt myriads times more lost and uneasy than that girl who was searching for a room for a night.

Dale had passed by them, they crossed the valley, and the menacing wall of the Mountain with the Front Gates was in front of Wren's eyes.

* * *

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	56. Chapter 56

**My darlings, all chapters are meticulously written to be between 1600 and 1800 words. I'll consider your complaints about the length a compliment to my writing and your desire for more :D **

**Here is more :D**

* * *

Guards with flaming torches stood by the Gates, the central part of which with its gilded tall leaves was ajar. The captain dismounted and helped Wren off her pony. There was a side entrance for the animals, and her now former travel companions went inside with the squires that had rushed to them to pick up the reins.

Wren threw the hood off her face and looked around in confusion. She was not certain what she was expected to do when Lord Balin stepped out of the Gates. Wren as much as threw herself at him, she was so exuberant to see a familiar face. And then Dwalin stepped out as well, and Wren saw a wide smile on both their faces.

They bestowed her with low bows, which she returned gladly, and then she could not contain her joy and hugged Balin, who made a surprised sound but patted her back affectionately.

"Good evening, honourable healer," his voice was soft, and she quickly withdrew, blushing furiously.

"Will I get one?" Dwalin suddenly asked, and Wren laughed in disbelief and threw her arms around his neck. His pat on the back was much less careful, which only made her laugh louder.

"Welcome to the Kingdom Under the Mountain, honourable healer," Balin's eyes twinkled with mirth, and Wren stepped away from his brother and fixed her sack slung over her shoulder.

"I am honoured and overjoyed to be here," she pronounced decorously, but the glimmer in his beautiful dark eyes told her she was not deceiving anyone.

"Not for long you are," Dwalin mumbled, and Wren threw an anxious look at him. "He just would not listen, would he?.."

"Well, brother, let us not frighten honourable healer before time," Balin interrupted Dwalin, and looped his arm offering it to Wren. "Allow me to accompany you, my lady."

Wren pushed her hand through it, and with a gulp she let him lead her inside.

* * *

They passed the parlours she was familiar with and then through large gates in the Entrance Hall that she had never had a chance to enter through, into the Inner Halls. They met a courtier on the way whom Balin sent to inform the King of her arrival, and then she was brought in a small cozy parlour. Another courtier showed up and with a low bow asked for her sack. She passed it to him and heavily sat on a bench by the wall.

"Your rooms are ready, my lady," Balin poured some water in a goblet for her, and she drank it greedily. "Lady Dis asked to talk to you before you repose though. She was hoping the two of you could share dinner, but you have arrived later than expected."

Wren nodded. She did not feel that tired. The reason they had arrived so late was that her companions would never not rush her on the road and would not wake her in the morning. She had slept longer that morning, and cursed Dwarves probably just sat there around their fire waiting for her to open her eyes. She shortly wondered if they had thought her lazy and nugatory, but she chased the thought away.

"I will be happy to see Lady Dis. Sleep can wait." She smiled to the Dwarves warmly. "Tell me of what transpired after I left. How is the company? What happened?" She suddenly realised she knew nothing about the events after the stone had been tossed into the abyss, and she as much as stretched her hands to the Dwarves in plea to tell her anything. "How did he come back to life? What did Dain do?" Her eyes were darting between the brothers, questions pouring out of her, and the Dwarves exchanged befuddled looks.

"Has Thorin not told you anything?" Balin asked carefully, and Wren choked on another of her feverish questions. Her cheeks immediately started to burn, and she fidgeted with the hem of her cloak.

"I am afraid we did not have a chance to speak of it," she mumbled, and then sighed. She truly had not given him a chance to say anything. First, she had barked at him at dinner, and then hastily refused him in the infirmary. She had regretted immensely not having talked to him properly. It would not have changed her decision, but he deserved to be heard.

"Well, perhaps we should sit down and discuss what had transpired then. Tomorrow perhaps, when everyone feels rested and willing to reminisce."

That 'everyone' had not escaped Wren's attention. Balin clearly was unwilling to lead this conversation without the King.

"Oh spare me this," Dwalin scoffed and sat down near Wren on the bench. "You threw the rock in, and we kept on fighting with Dain and his men..."

"Given none was trying to actually injure another..." Balin inserted, and Dwalin glared at him.

"And then a courtier ran in yelling that there was a 'plight' in the crypt. I still remember him yelling 'plight,'" Dwalin suddenly gave out a booming laugh. "The dead King roaring in his tomb and his sister trying to move the tombstone off, using his Elven blade as a crowbar is not exactly what I would call a plight!"

Wren gasped and pressed her hands to her mouth. And then she remembered the words of the Dwarven King.

"He told me he had spent several hours in the tomb! How long were you fighting Dain's men in that room?" Dwalin gave her a very pleased grin. It was a rather alarming one, bloodthirsty and feral.

"It was a good scuffle. Dain was limping for two weeks afterwards. Was claiming it was the reason I outdrank him during the feast afterwards." Dwalin chuckled. "And they said he could hold his liquor! Broke down after the second barrel he did!"

Wren watched the Dwarves with wide open eyes, and suddenly the side door opened and Lady Dis came in. Wren got up to curtsey when the Dwarven dame quickly crossed the room and locked her in tight embrace.

"Wren..." She breathed out, and the healer felt the Dwarven Princess' arms squeeze her shoulders even harder. Lady Dis moved away holding Wren in the straight arms, and to Wren's shock she saw a radiant wide smile on the woman's face. Wren had never even imagined such expression were possible in the severe features of the Princess. "It is such a joy to see you! We had been so worried about you, and it was such a relief when Thorin returned from the Vales with the news of your happy life in the Skinchanger's village. And look at you!" Dis gave her a gleeful look over. "So fresh and healthy!"

"I am well and content," Wren mumbled awkwardly, and the Princess chuckled softly.

"Despite your obvious resistance to my brother's efforts, I see," Lady Dis gave her a pointed look from under a raised eyebrow, suddenly looking every bit like Thorin Oakenshield's sister she was, and Wren did not know what to think and how to behave anymore.

"Sit, Wren, tell me of your life," Dis pulled her down on the bench, and before Wren could open her mouth the Princess added, "But not too much, you need rest. And we will have plenty of time to converse. Considering the plans my brother has for you."

"Uzbadnatha…" Lord Balin's voice was warning, and Dis threw a look at him sideways.

"Oh, are we not telling her that she is now his captive and he is intending to unleash all his charm onto her?" There was plenty of sarcasm in the woman's statement, and Wren felt almost physically ill. "We all know how misplaced his eagerness is, and yet..."

"He would not listen," Dwalin finished for the Princess, and Wren could not suppress a pitiful squeak.

"Could we please not talk about it? I feel I am not even in the room," she rasped out, for the first time in her life feeling a fervent desire to discuss her life and share her circumstances. Anything was better than the present company making terrifying hints and, as it seemed to her, laughing at her aggravation.

"I have to agree with honourable healer. Perhaps we should change the subject," Balin sat down in an armchair, and Wren started her account of what had happened to her after the Arkenstone predicament.

She was released out of the parlour rather soon, and she as much as ran out of it following a courtier and a maid who were to take her to the rooms assigned to her.

* * *

When the doors opened in front of her she started understanding what Dwalin and Lady Dis were speaking about. The chambers were ostentatious, full of luxurious furniture, tapestries and chests. Wren froze on the threshold and even jerked her foot back, after her dirty travel boot sank into the softest carpet she had seen in her life. Her sack and saddle bags, unpacked and placed on a cedar chest in the depth of the second parlour she could see through a row of open doors, looked small and crude, and Wren wrapped her arms around her middle in her uneasy childhood habit.

"My lady," the maid stood waiting for Wren to come in, and the healer, half nauseous, half irritated, dragged herself inside.

She was offered a bath, she had never seen a tub that large, and then the maid handed her a bath sheet and helped her into her night gown. By then Wren was mortified beyond measure, from embarrassment for her attires looking so plain and unalluring, even more so in comparison with a modish, well cut dress of the maid. To think of it, Wren felt painfully uncomfortable from being tended to in general. She had never in her life had a maid and was constantly torn between apologising for the trouble she was causing, and trying to guess what she was even supposed to do with a maid.

Finally she was tucked in her bed, the candles were blown out, and the maid left. The bed was surprisingly long and wide, Wren had expected that at least the furniture to fit her, and now she was lost between pillows and duvets, and she curled in a small ball and squeezed her eyes shut.

* * *

**My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

**Twitter: katyakolmakov**

**Instagram: kkolmakov**

* * *

**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

my first novel, based on a story written here

**Available on Amazon: July 15th, 2015**

**Kindle &amp; Paper!**

**Kindle pre-order: available NOW!**

Let me know if you pre-ordered and receive an exclusive 1000+ word piece

based on your specifications!


	57. Chapter 57

**A/N: Well, I apologise but I am going to be stubborn and chapters will still be 1600-1800 word long :D I'm OCD and a neatfreak :D You try living with a radical INFJ personality! :D But how about a double one? ;)**

* * *

Wren was woken up by the maid, and her first day in Erebor started. She was offered another bath, given a new dress and fed a large breakfast in her chambers. By the end of the meal, which she obediently ate although it exceeded her usual fare in times, she felt so flustered she was wondering if Erebor had broom closets and how long before she would be discovered if she hid in one.

The dress constituted for more than a half of her vexation. It was heavy, made of luscious velvet, of the Dwarven fashion, with silken undertunic and lace in the cut of the tight brocaded bodice. It was ostentatious, of dark green and gold, and fit her perfectly. It was clearly bespoke, and Wren felt horrible. She looked even smaller in it and felt even more out of place. And she could not help but compare herself with the young maiden serving her. The girl was lovely, with her straight dark brows, strong decisive curve of lips, and silken auburn wavy hair, in an intricate do with heavy braids. Her movements were confident and her occasional looks were coloured with curiosity and, as Wren thought, slight confusion. Wren felt like blurting out that she hardly understood what she was doing in Erebor herself.

After breakfast Wren was escorted to meet with Lord Balin, and the first half of Wren's day consisted of a long tour around the Central Halls of the Kingdom Under the Mountain. Books could be written and ballads could be composed about the curiosities and luxury Wren saw that day. She was shown around the Trading Chambers where immense gems were weighed and crafted, then she saw the Forges and the Mines. Initially seemingly slightly uneasy, with time Balin grew rather lively and excited, and was showing her around with pride and relentless enthusiasm. Wren was fighting dizziness and nausea.

After short mid day meal they were joined by Dwalin whose job was to show her Armouries and the Training Yard. Wren felt her whole body twitch from the memories of the explosive noise clashing training swords made, hours after she was released. She took dinner in her chambers and fell asleep before the maid was done with the candles.

* * *

The next day after breakfast with Princess Dis, Wren was escorted into the Inner Halls and to her utter horror she was invited to have a meeting with the Elders. This time they were polite and considerate. She was asked to retell her adventures, and she stuttered and mumbled, but they kept on listening with purposefully interested faces. She was then asked advice and her opinion on whether it had been the blood from the line of Durin that allowed the King to return from the oblivion and whether she considered something of the sort was possible to happen to his sister-sons. Wren hardly suppressed a terrified croak like noise and reminded the Elders that she had no knowledge in the Dwarven magic and had been nothing but a vessel of the previous miracle. The Elders benevolently nodded and reassured her she had been much more. She wondered whether they had been bribed or blackmailed to treat her thusly.

Tours and meetings continued. And to make it hundreds time worse, on every step she would receive gifts. Elders insisted she accepted a chest with some ancient Dwarven artifacts, and she had been so mortified by it that she had no strength to open it. It sat on the side table near her bed, together with myriads of other boxes and packages. Common Dwarves were allowed to visit her in the evening of the second day, and she sat in a parlour adjoint to her chambers, with Dis and balin at her sides, accepting visitors and listening again and again to the words of gratitude and praise. Women, children, old and young men, they would come, bring gifts, again and again thank her for returning their King to them. They would praise Thorin Oakenshield as a monarch, acclaim the preservation of the line of Durin and express their utmost deep admiration for her. Children would stare in curiosity, adults would bow and stack another box with gems on one of the low tables crowding the parlour.

She had no nerve left to have dinner on the second day, and blaming it on exhaustion she climbed under her duvets in the early evening and closed her eyes.

* * *

During the breakfast of the third day that was shortly improved by the presence of Bofur and Nori, but quickly turned into another exercise in Wren's patience when she was informed that today she would be shown the famous Treasury of Thror, Wren had reached her limit, jumped up on her feet and demanded the audience with the King. She was told by an uncomfortable looking courtier that the King was preoccupied and had asked to inform Lady Wren that he would be joyous to see her in the evening. Wren plopped back on her chair and accepted her doom.

After a short rest after her midday meal that she requested claiming the need to repose and spent stomping around her chambers like a caged bear, Wren was visited by five haughty looking Dwarven dames who claimed to be Lady Dis' seamstresses and who came bringing seven dresses made for Wren. She was to choose one for tomorrow's feast, and she suddenly felt so faint that the next half an hour she could hear nothing of the long and colourful talk of the seamstresses and just stare at the wall trying to breathe evenly. All dresses seemed the same to her, and all of them seemed wrong. They all were certainly intricately made, opulent and matched her hair colour and complexion, and Wren nodded and praised, chose a random one, and that was the last drop.

She was marching behind a courtier taking her to, as she understood, the King's study, and she was fuming. Who did he think she was? She had been preparing a long speech full of indignation and reprimand from the moment the Dwarven company stepped into her village, day after day she had been adding new and new rebukes to the great list she had in her head, and she felt almost triumphant. Everything she had been subjected to had been yet another proof of how right her decision had been.

The courtier opened the door in front of her, she stormed in, and froze with her mouth half open.

He was sitting behind his desk, and after hearing her enter he lifted his eyes at her and and rose on his feet.

Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain, stood in front of her, his eyes on her face, and nothing but his name was on her mind at that moment.

"Thorin..."

"Good evening, Wren," his tone was cordial, and his voice so much softer and richer than she remembered. She opened and closed her mouth several times, and he calmly stood in front of her waiting for her to speak.

Eventually she just huffed some air out and fell in the chair across from him. She was mumbling under her breath and shaking her head in exasperation, and he carefully sat back in his chair. His hands lay on the polished surface, and she suddenly stared at them. There was a long half healed cut on the back of his right palm, and there were ink stains on the fingers, most nails were clean, but the left thumb one had something bright red under it, and she assumed it was wax from a letter. She remembered his hands well from her dreams, the wide palms, the black hair on the back of the hands, strong wrists, but suddenly she realised that right now in front of her they were non imaginary, physical. He was alive and real and was sitting in front of her. Unlike the unnatural ethereal cleanliness of her dreams, he was corporeal and all flesh.

"I first thought you were being dim. How could he misunderstand me so, I asked myself..." She suddenly spoke and lifted her eyes at him. The thick black eyebrows twitched slightly, almost unnoticeably rising, and she frowned frustrated by her own awkward wording. "The dress, the food, the visitors, the gifts, Maiar help me, especially the gifts!.. The Elders with their feigned respect, the never ending tours… All this gold and wealth, and luxury, so excessive, so…" Wren searched for a word. "Suffocating… I have always considered your mountain a cage and every step of the way I would find confirmation of it..."

He still had not said a word, listening to her patiently, with the same calm, attentive expression on his face, and she intertwined her fingers and shifted in her chair in unease.

"But then I wondered whether you were doing it on purpose. To show me the whole Mountain at once, all of it, so if I am ever mad enough to stay, there would be no surprises for me… But then I started to think that maybe I was misreading it altogether, and you were not planning anything. Maybe I was just invited in the Mountain for exactly that, for an official visit, and it was not some veiled attempt to propose to me again... Because I have already refused you..." Her cheeks were flaming, and she could not lift her eyes. "Maybe you have already changed your mind..."

"I have not," the King's statement was calm yet decisive, and she still could not look at him.

"Then you are doing it all wrong!" She exclaimed, and suddenly heard a small chuckle from him. She peeked and saw him smiling to her with the very corners of his lips.

"I am glad there is a right way, even though I am apparently unaware of what it is. At least there is hope." She was now staring at him, and saw his shoulders shake in suppressed laughter.

"That is not what I meant!"

"Did you not now?" He asked, and she clapped her hands to her knees in agitation.

"You are making me look coy! As if I am trying to cajole something! I do not need anything from you!"

"That I am aware of," he nodded, and she as much as grabbed handfuls of her hair in frustration.

"So what is it then? Are you being insensitive or cunning?!" She cried out, and he suddenly started guffawing. It took him several long instants to calm down, and she had half a thought to leave. She started rising from the chair, and he loudly cleared her throat and lifted his hand in a pacifying gesture.

"Please, Wren, do not leave. I am only laughing because you seem so certain that I have such hidden motives for my actions." He took a deep breath in and gave her a warm look. "You were invited to Erebor because people wanted to thank you. The Elders assume, and I do not share their opinion, that you are hiding some sort of magical gift, and they are half terrified, half suspicious of you. The company wanted to have a feast, and Dain would love to join the celebration." Wren felt her eyebrows crawl up.

"I have deprived him of his throne!"

"You have given him his King and his relative back, Wren," the King's tone was still affectionate but firm. "Do not think low of him. He is a man of honour and a loyal friend."

"He was fighting us in the Lower Halls!"

"Just a misunderstanding," the King dismissed her words with a wave of his hand, and Wren gasped.

"I almost lost an arm because of this misunderstanding! I cannot perform surgery anymore!" She immediately felt embarrassed of her outburst. She indeed never fully regained the control over her right arm, but it indeed had nothing to do with Dain Ironfoot. "I apologise, it was uncalled for. It was indeed just..."

"You do tend to hide your injuries from me, Wren." There was some graveness in his voice, and she looked at him not understanding. "The arm, the ribs, the leg in the Mountains… Are they giving you grief these days as well?"

Wren blushed and dropped her eyes. Apparently Dwalin and Bofur felt it necessary to inform the King of what she had hidden from him. She felt it was of no importance then, and many things happened afterwards. The scar on her thigh was long and ugly, and the bones in the forearm would ache in rainy weather, but she stubbornly shook her head and met his eyes.

"I have healed, my lord. And once again it has nothing to do with you. Those were..."

"What? Just little accidents?" He suddenly asked venomously, and she saw he was livid. "You do not let me in even an inch, do you? I am not allowed to even feel remorseful for the pain you had to sustain because of me!"

She opened her mouth to reassure him, but he suddenly slammed his palm into the table.

"Let me speak! I am not allowed to express my gratitude! I am not allowed to explain myself! When refusing me, you said I had no choice but to be with you in your dreams! I think the matter is that you had all control then, and something tells me, you enjoyed it!" He was almost snarling now, his eyes narrowed at her, and she bit into her bottom lip anxiously. "And you are panicked now because you have to relinquish it now. Well, I am not your dream anymore! I am an alive man, with my power, my desires, and actions you cannot control." He picked up a letter opened from the table and then threw it aside in irritation. He shook his head and muttered almost not addressing her, "I told myself I would be patient with you, but you are maddening..."

She suddenly felt utterly confused. She just wanted to leave. He was muddling her mind, she was torn between an urge to please and reassure him and her own principles and desires, and she frowned.

"I had of course expected you to dislike the way you had to travel to Erebor, Wren, but I was not risking your travelling alone or with a couple of friends. Last time, as I later found out, you had almost died, first in an Orc ambush, and then in the snows in the mountains. And before you say anything," he once again lifted his hand in a warning gesture, but she was not going to say anything, "You indeed have survived that. But not without consequences!" He pointed at her hand, the scar from the cut ran across her right palm and was peeking from around her thumb, and she hastily hid it under the left hand.

"I cannot tell my people not to gift you with what they want," he continued, taking measured breaths in. "That is what Dwarves are like. For us gold and gems matter, that is how we express our... admiration." She understood he wanted to say 'love,' but then he pressed his lips together in frustration. "Do not misunderstand me, I know you are detesting being here. You came because you were officially invited, and to see the company, and I am grateful. I do not expect this visit to bring any other fruit." He finished firmly and looked at the wall behind her, as if studying the tapestry on it attentively.

Wren suddenly felt very tired. So, Dwalin and Dis were wrong, and this invitation had nothing to do with his feelings for her. He was not trying to trick her, or charm her, or buy her affections.

"I am sorry..." Remorse flooded her, and she felt tears rolling onto her eyes. "You see, we do not know each other at all! I apologise, I should not have thought that you would..."

"That I would try to make you change your mind? You have refused me, Wren. I do not crave repetition of such event." He gave her a pointed sarcastic look, and she blushed again.

"But I was right!" She could hear herself how pleading and shaky she sounded. "I do not belong here! I am a healer, and I have simple tastes, and..."

"And you prefer your simple life in a Northmen village to being with me," he finished for her, his tone suddenly acidic and angry, and she winced away. He exhaled and rubbed his face with his palms. "Forgive me, that was improper. And unfair…" He gave her an empty polite smile. "We honestly should not return to this question. It has been closed, and none of us enjoys this discussion."

A year and a half ago Wren would have let his bitter outburst to stay unanswered, or even perhaps would have considered submitting to his desire, but she had grown a lot since the day she came to Dale.

"What would you have me do, Thorin?" Her voice sadly wrapped around his name. "By choosing life in Erebor I would have to give up all of myself. I live with the Northmen not out of obligation, I have chosen that life..." She folded her hands in a pleading gesture. "I would not be me if I stayed here. And would you not hate it? If you truly care for me, would you even like me if I betrayed everything I was?" He lifted his eyes at her and frowned. "And the village is where I belong. And there are other women who could fill this place..."

"Wren," he interrupted sharply, "I am a Dwarf, there are no 'other' women for us. There is only one, and..." He stumbled over words, clearly frustrated by the mawkishness of them. "Even without what has transpired between us… As much you insisted on denying it..." He added bitterly, and Wren sighed.

"Thorin, I am truly sorry for that day. I cannot ask forgiveness enough for my words then. I was unfair, and I hurt you." Her sincere tone made him look up at her. "Those nights… They happened, and they mattered. They mattered to me no less than they mattered to you." She gave him a sad smile. "And there will never be 'others' for me as well. It is just not… enough."

His lips twitched, but he did not speak. She felt exhausted and almost dizzy, and slowly got up.

"And I apologise for storming here and… being loud. I clearly do not know how to behave in such circumstances. And how to talk to Kings," she attempted to joke, but he did not reciprocate.

"Have a good evening, Wren. And I shall see you tomorrow at the feast." His voice was hollow, and she sighed and nodded.

* * *

She was shown back to her room, and she fell asleep lying over the covers and without taking off her dress. The maid woke her up when it was time to go to bed, and after changing Wren sent the girl away and started unpacking her gifts. Some strange serene acceptance came over her, and she sorted the gems, books, rolls of fabric, and other presents. Some could be given to the villagers, some could be used, such as brushes and books, some things had to be left with Lady Dis, Wren was certain the Princess could help her find a delicate way of going about it, and halfway through her efforts Wren saw a small box, wrapped in simple dark blue silk. It was tied with a narrow red ribbon and sealed with wax.

She had almost broken it without thinking like all of them before it, but then she recognised the runes on it. She had seen them on his tombstone, and on the doors of the crypt, and on the buckle of belt of the effigy. The runes 'Th' and 'O,' intertwined in one simple symbol.

Inside she found a simple necklace, just a sturdy silver chain with a pendant on it, containing one gem, with warm body colour, yellow, brown and green playing in it, and Wren recognised fire opal. She knew little about precious stones but Thea once explained to her that her eyes had the same strange colouring as this stone. It was surrounded by intricate curlicues of filigree, forming a semblance to the representation of a star in Dwarven craft.

She looked at a small note, handwritten on a simple piece of parchment, with his signature after one short sentence.

_You are my first ray of light, my dawn, my Thatrubaknul, the Morning Star that awakes and chases away the darkness._

* * *

**My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

**Twitter: katyakolmakov**

**Instagram: kkolmakov**

* * *

**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

my first novel, based on a story written here

**Available on Amazon: July 15th, 2015**

**Kindle &amp; Paper!**

**Kindle pre-order: available NOW!**

Let me know if you pre-ordered and receive an exclusive 1000+ word piece

based on your specifications!


	58. Chapter 58

**A/N: If you are curious, google the Russian drink 'kvass' to get a clearer picture of what happened here :) As an unofficial ginger with funny relationships with booze I can attest to the validity of the events :D**

* * *

**A/N: ****A long personal note**** (bear with me :D or not, up to you :D)**

**I just feel that as a community (as overused as this term is) we could do a bit more for each other, namely we could be a bit more considerate. The last couple weeks have been a bit rough on me personally, with certain family circumstances, and the pressure to finish the editing of the book, and some other this and that, and although I am mostly very good at regulating my emotions, I have recently started being anxious and doubting whether I even want to check my reviews. I'll explain why.**

**I am a certified bilingual speaker and have been teaching English for the last 16 years in universities all over the world. I have several degrees in English, teaching, translating and second language acquisition, and do know English grammar quite well. I still have an accent when I speak though, according to Canadians it sounds 'vaguely European' :) mostly British, with a bit irregularity in vowels, a bit of rolling of r's, rather distinct Slavic undertone, and so, over all… Dutch :D I am a bit shy about it to be honest, and on a bad day I forget my proficiency, and comments on my speaking/writing trigger anxiety in me. I am also an INFJ and we are hardly capable of accepting any sort of criticism, even constructive, if it isn't given to us gently, but I'm working on it :)**

**I just think if a person doesn't like a story or where the narrative is going, they should just stop reading it. And I also think we all should express our opinions on the plot and characters considerately, while spelling/grammar comments should be sent in a personal message. Besides the majority of lovely people who read and write here, we also occasionally get a wanker or two who are just hateful, and that is already way too much negativity in this space, so why not be a bit kinder to each other? Life often hurts as it is. Don't we come here for a bit of escape and looking for kindred minds?**

**OK, I'm done with my rant (which honestly doesn't require any reaction from you, ****my darlings**** :D) and will go drink my mint tea :)**

**Yours truly,**

**kkolmakov**

* * *

To her immense surprise Wren was utterly enjoying the feast. It was held in a hall that seemed endless, two rows of tables, food and drinks covering every square inch of them, were put so that the guests would be facing each other. Wren was sitting in the head of the table, to the right from Lady Dis, the King by his sister's other hand, and at the beginning Wren was fighting an urge to slide down her chair and hide under the table, shielded from the world by the white tablecloth with runes embroidered on its edge in blood red. She could just imagine crawling between the boots of the Dwarves and towards the exit at the other end of the Hall. But with time she was feeling better and better, and the conversations around her were growing louder and louder, and she seemed to participate in them. The food was excellent, Dwalin sitting next to her kept on placing pieces of roasted venison on her plate, and she surprisingly kept on eating. Balin sitting on the other hand from the King was telling of the Quest for Erebor, an episode in the Elvenking dungeons, and Wren laughed loudly with others. All the company was present, and Wren had been exuberant to see them all again. Except, she thought now, she had been feeling so uneasy and intimidated before the feast, especially after she had been officially introduced to Dain Ironfoot, that she was completely tongue-tied.

She was not at the moment. She had been asked just an instant ago whether Chief Beorn's son was a skinchanger as well, and she was now gleefully telling the Dwarves around her that every time the babe made a groan like noise, Martha would jump away from it expecting it to start sprouting fur. Her listeners rolled with laughter, even the King, whose face had been reserved and almost cold at the beginning, snorted loudly, and Wren felt rather smug. There were demands for more stories, and Wren obliged. After a few anecdotes some of the Dwarves at her end of the table were as much as lying on the tablecloth, tears running down bearded faces, fists approvingly thumping into it.

And that was when Wren understood the reason for the lightness of her mood and the looseness of her tongue. And it was also clear that it was too late to do anything.

On her way to the feast Wren had been accompanied by Lady Dis, and at some point Wren grabbed the Princess' sleeve and pleaded to help her avoid any sort of brew during the feast. Wren was utterly and embarrassingly incapable of partaking any wine, ale or mead. She would grow muddled after the first mug and the next day would pay with excruciating headache and stomach colics. Lady Dis had promised Wren her aid, and when they approached the table she pointed at jugs with some amber coloured liquid.

"That is Gibir Hamd, 'liquid bread.' It is made of bread, honey and raisins. We give it to children." Wren quickly looked around the table. There were very few of those jugs, but if she managed to move one close to her and convince Dwalin to only pour this drink into her goblet, she would be safe during the feast.

The Dwarven 'liquid bread' was a light sweet drink, slightly bubbly, but far from ale. The taste was pleasant and indeed as if made for children. Even if she had not been limited to it, Wren would not have drunk anything else.

And now she was certainly and irrevocably drunk. She had just enough sense left in her to realise her state, but not quite enough of the said sense to feel upset by the gleeful elation she was experiencing.

* * *

The feast was growing noisier and more and more exuberant, guests were starting to wander, most with some roasted game leg in their hand, and suddenly Wren found herself face to face with Dain Ironfoot. Wren looked around trying to understand where Dwalin went and why the Lord of Iron Hills was now sitting on his spot. Dwalin was standing by the wall, absorbed in a lively conversation with Bombur, Gloin and several other Dwarves Wren was not familiar with, and Wren tried to focus her eyes on Dain. She was successful, and the part of her mind that was still slightly in control told her she was not completely inebriated. Wren quickly took another large gulp of the liquid bread.

She just could not stop staring at the strange pieces of horn, weaved into the red haired Dwarf's beard, making it look like tusks of a hog that she knew he rode into battle, and then she realised that he had been speaking for quite a while now.

"... And all I am saying, that is properly unfair," he rumbled, and his eyes were twinkling. "An old hag I could accept. But a pretty face to add to all his fortunes!.." He clicked his tongue and gave her a wide grin. Wren blinked several times.

"Pardon?" Dain roared with laughter at her expression, and smacked his spade like hand into the table.

"He is dismayed by the fact that I was fortunate enough to attend your dreams, you being an alluring maiden, as opposed to an elderly matron with unpleasant temper," the King's voice from behind her made Wren jump up and whip her head. She met his laughing eyes and gulped loudly. He was leaning, both his hands on the low back of her chair, their faces level with each other, their noses as much as bumping. Wren frantically blinked several times, all her senses assaulted by his presence.

"That is what I am saying, laddie," Dain nodded and toppled another mug into his throat, "I would take a blade between my ribs for succour from such a gem." Dain bestowed Wren with a wink, and she felt the need to close her mouth that had opened from shock.

Wren's eyes darted at where Dain's wife stood by the wall, loudly laughing at something Lady Dis was telling her. Lady Tora was a short, stately Dwarven dame, at least twice as wide as Lady Dis, her thick copper hair braided around her head in a do that Wren in her inebriated state could not help but compare to a bee hive.

"Aye, that would be my uglakhamalk," Dain pronounced with astonishing tenderness in his tone. The Dwarf then gave an open approving look to his wife's backside, and Wren felt blush creeping on her cheeks.

"Better half," the King translated into Wren's ear, and she realised she was inclining away from him. His velvet voice, so close to her, was creating some sort of strange buzzing in her head, and she looked at him askew. His face was indeed very close, her nose was full of the smell of his skin, and she saw the whiskers of the beard and the thick glossy side braid just a few inches away from her face.

"Aye, and a redhead as you can see," Dain barked a short laughter. "The Line of Durin has a weakness for coppered gold." Apparently the Lord of Iron Hills considered his joke to be exceptionally funny, and he kept on banging on the table, and then he clapped Thorin's shoulder. "And you know what they say about freckles..."

"What do they say about freckles?" Wren could not summon herself why she was asking. It was definitely the 'liquid bread' that was coursing her blood and that she for no conceivable reason took another large sip of.

"Another freckle, another son." There was unadulterated sensuality in the King's murmuring that trickled into her ear, and she choked on her drink.

"Well, Thorin here is being rather bashful," Dain gave Wren a mischievous look. "The exact translation would be 'another freckle, another night to make a son.'"

Wren slowly lowered the mug on the table, and suddenly the King's long arm reached over her shoulder, and he picked it up. Wren was starting to shake from the effort to not turn her head and bury her nose into the silken waves behind his ear.

"Gibir Hamd?" He asked and took a sip. "It does ferment in those barrels, Wren. I thought you shun from brews." He took another sip, keeping their eyes locked, and then slowly moved the mug away from his lips, which he then shamelessly licked. "This one is exceptionally sweet, I have to say. They have not spared honey in this one."

The buzzing in Wren's head was growing deafening, and her hands were shaking under the table.

"By my beard, aren't you two in a hurry to count those freckles?" Dain's voice made Wren jolt and finally tear her eyes off the King's face. She immediately blushed furiously. She opened her mouth, still not sure what she would answer, but surely some sort of a rebuke, when suddenly something warm brushed at her nape. She emitted a small squeak since even without looking she knew that the aforementioned something was very much the King's nose.

"Shall we start with the ones on the shoulders?" The King whispered, and Wren turned around to hiss at him that his behaviour was beyond inappropriate, when Dain jumped on his feet and with a happy roar 'Cousin!' rushed to someone standing at the other end of the hall.

Wren did not have a chance to find out whom Dain was now hugging and as much as picking up from the ground, as she had much greater preoccupations.

"Are you drunk?" She asked the King in a stern voice. She felt his behaviour was surely out of the ordinary, although her asking him so directly was an alarming sign as well.

"Nay. Are you?" The King was clearly making fun of her, since one of the eyebrows was cocked sardonically and the lips, she could not stop thinking, now were sweet from the drink, were twitching, and Wren pouted. While the sober part of her mind was scolding her for this childish expression, she rarely allowed it to herself, she could not help but notice the King now staring at her mouth.

"I do not understand what brought this up, my lord. Surely, we should not..."

"You are staring at me," he interrupted her, and she met his eyes again. The pupils were so dilated that the black was almost flooding the icy blue. "That is what brought this up. You are muddled, and you hide it worse. And..." He leaned in closer, and she wanted to shy away, but could not bring herself to. The tip of his nose brushed at hers, and she took a sharp breath in. "And your chest is heaving. You are forgetting I have bedded you, Wren," he whispered into her wide open eyes, panic and arousal no doubt splashing in them. "I know when you are full of desire."

Wren would like to claim that her next action was a well thought through step, but no thought was involved in it. Wren did not think, but let herself feel and lose herself in the feeling. She dove ahead and pressed her lips to his.


	59. Chapter 59

The light streaming into Wren's room through a half curtained window was dreary but high, and she realised that it must have been close to midday. She opened her eyes with difficulty and immediately shielded them with hand. Her head ached excruciatingly, the eyes felt as if full of sand, and her throat was sore and scratched. And then the memories of last night rushed into her mind, and she jolted and tried to sit up, but the sharp nausea and stomach pain slashed across her, and she rolled on her stomach, heaving and trying to push up on her trembling arms.

One consolation was evident. She was alone in her bed. Since the last thing she remembered was the intoxicating taste of the King's lips moving on hers and her hands promptly finding their way into the silken waves at the back of his head, she would not be surprised to find herself in his bed, or him in hers. She was nonetheless alone, and pressing one hand over her mouth she quickly looked herself over. She was dressed in her drawers and undertunic, and not the nightdress, but she was not bare either, which came as an immense relief.

She was utterly at loss at what had transpired last night, but the first emotion that flooded her was acute remorse for her behaviour at the feast. She curled in a ball, one arm wrapped around her middle, and squeezed her eyes. She had been so bedraggled by her visit, she had felt more battered than after her fall into the pit at the bottom of Erebor Halls, and now she had added public humiliation, not just her own but for the both of them, in front of half the Kingdom, to her previous grievances, and Wren felt tears rolling onto her eyes. Maiar only knew what people had thought of her behaviour, and she knew not what followed, and even less she understood what she was to do now.

She grudgingly climbed off the bed and slowly walked into the bath chambers. Every step was echoed in her head like a hammer meeting an anvil, and then she hardly managed to reach the basin before the content of her stomach spilled out of her. It brought no relief, only made the pain in her temples and behind her eyes bloom brighter, and she sank on the floor. She leaned back at a wall and took several measured breaths in.

It took her about half an hour to finally rise, drink some water, and wash up. She then slowly walked back into the bedroom, put on one of the dresses she brought with her, and then she sat by the window at loss as to what she was to do now. Previously by this time of the day the maid would have come to her and she would have been dragged to yet another meeting or meal. She wondered what she had managed to do last night that turned her into a person apparently unwelcome in Erebor anymore. The window of her room overlooked the Erebor Valley, and Wren sat her forehead pressed to the cold glass, her body in agony, her mind anguished.

* * *

In about half an hour a knock came to her door, and she jerked and would have jumped on her feet if she had not been feeling so ill. She croaked allowing her visitor entrance, expecting to see the maid, and was immediately mortified to see the King himself. He looked well rested and fresh, in his black velvet doublet and leather trousers. To add to her abasement he was carrying a tray with some drink and food, and Wren had to press a hand over her mouth to reign her rising nausea.

"Good morning, Wren," the King's tone was amicable. "How are you faring this morning?"

Wren tried to rise to bestow him with a curtsey or a bow, and she swayed. He hastily pushed a tray on the nearest table and stepped to her, stretching his hand to support her.

"It is alright..." She waved her hands in the air, as she hoped looking reassuring. But she knew how obvious it was that she was trying to avoid any physical contact with him. She would surely start crying violently were she to have the smallest reminder of her transgression, and his body would be the most glaring one. "I am alright..." Her voice was hardly audible, and then she rushed in, "I am so sorry! I have no words to ask for forgiveness! I cannot believe what has happened!" Tears burst out of her eyes, making her head hurt even more. "I will never forgive myself! It is so horrible!.."

The King stood several feet away from her, halted by her raised hand, and she lifted her painfully burning eyes at him. His face was surprised and confused, and she sobbed.

"Wren, I do not think you have anything to apologise for..."

"I got drunk and behaved in the unthinkable way! I cannot..." She covered her face with her hands and sobbed even louder, swallowing again and again, through the vile bitterness in her mouth, and then his hand lay on her shoulder, and she started shaking her head. She did not deserve his forgiveness.

"You did not know of the drink, and again, you have not done anything..."

"I kissed you! That much I remember! And Maiar know what else! I have taken advantage of you!" She wailed, and stepped away from him, tumbling backwards, a bench cut her under her knees, and she ungracefully fell on it.

The King started laughing. It was loud and gleeful, and sounded sincere, and Wren dropped her hands and gaped at him.

"Why are you laughing?! I have put you into most humiliating position, in front of all your kin, and I have..." She could not find a word and her hands flew up again in torment. "I have lured you!"

The King's laughter was growing even louder, his shoulders were shaking in an unrestricted merriment, and then he swiftly stepped closer and knelt in front of her. She winced away from him in distress.

"Wren, you are being preposterous," he picked up her hands, and she tried to pull them away, but he did not let her. "I am not an innocent maiden to be exploited." He snorted, "And I would hardly call yesterday's events humiliating..."

"I have refused your proposal, and then..." She could not bring herself to talk about it. If she were not that pale from her ill state, her cheeks would be flaming now. "I was being dissolute, how could I?!.."

"All sorts of things happen on those feasts, Wren, one chaste kiss will hardly be memorable. And again so much ale have been drunk since then, and will still be drunk, that I do not believe anyone would remember..." He gave her a small mischievous smile, "Besides you and I of course."

"Oh Maiar, but you will! I am a heinous person..." She was still pulling her hands out of his when he suddenly jerked her towards him and she tumbled into his arms.

"Seize this nonsense, Wren!" He suddenly told her sharply, and she gasped. She was pressed close to him and started moving away from him, when his hand lay at the back of her head. The palm was hot, controlling, and shiver ran through her. "That is how you take advantage of another person, not by your innocent actions of last night! Now that I know what you feel towards me and considering how weak you are right now, I can easily break your will now and make you mine." She stared at him, the lines of his face were harsh and as if frozen, and she started shaking. "One innocent kiss that I in my muddled state as much as swindled out of you is nothing compared to what I can do to you now." She jerked and pressed her hands into his shoulders. She was feeling more and more terrified, by his cold hollow voice, and the almost cruel line of lips. His eyes grew distant, and he mumbled, "I could probably even convince both of us later that you wanted it… You are contrite at the moment, and..." And then his face wavered, and he met her eyes. The expression in his blue ones was soft and sorrowful. "You kissed me, I took you back here, and left you alone. Nothing happened, Wren. The feast is still continuing, more and more halls are crowded with inebriated guests, and I do not think most of them have even noticed our absence. And none would assume we have left together… You have nothing to worry about."

"Dain was there when I kissed you..." Wren mumbled weakly, still trying to free herself out of his arms, and this time he let her go. She scooted away from him on the floor, and he sat, throwing one long arm over a bent knee.

"Dain had drunk twice as much as I had by then, and I was hardly standing straight. I cannot promise you that when you kissed me, I did not have an impression I was kissed by twins." His tone was light and jolly, but she was still staring at him, not able to forget the terrifying hunger and gravity she had seen in his eyes just a minute ago. He caught her eyes and sighed. "You should eat and drink. I brought you some herbal drink the cook makes for the next day after a feast. The other guests will not have a need in it for another week, but I felt you might require it now. And there is some food for the same purposes. Pickled tomatoes are the best remedy..." He pointed at the tray, but she could not care less for the food. Feeling slightly better, she immediately felt she needed answers.

"You were drunk too?!" Her voice was bewildered, "I did not notice..."

"I am a Dwarf, Wren, we can drink for moons. And I am also not a young man anymore, I do have the skill." That was when Wren blushed. She should have known of course that he would not have been that direct under normal circumstances, but a petty regret crawled into her heart. He was so seductive, so alluring in those minutes she remembered, and now it turned out it was not him, it was ale talking. She berated herself immediately. Just a minute ago she was desolated that she might have titillated him after having refused him, and now she was regretting he had only behaved thusly because of the brew.

"You have a rather interesting facial expression, Wren. Are you still mentally flogging yourself for yesterday? Because I have already told you, you have nothing to feel ashamed of." He was looking at her softly, but still was not rising.

"What happened then?" She asked sheepishly, and he sighed again.

"As I told you, I led you out of the Hall and brought you here. Your maid is at the servants' feast, there is always one held when there is one in the Royal Halls, so I just..." He trailed away and pointed at the bed.

"Was I asleep? Maiar help me, was I talking?" Wren bit into her bottom lip anxiously, and he shrugged.

"You did, but it made no sense. You were talking about Dain, but it was all nonsense. Unless you do indeed have all these maternal feelings to him that you mentioned last night." The King then gave her a teasing look, "I did not expect you to be so impressed by the Lord of Iron Hills as to call him 'beautiful boy...'" Wren fisted her hands and prayed to Maiar the King was indeed as clueless as he was claiming.

"He is rather… remarkable..." She mumbled, sounding unconvincing even to her ears, and the King snorted.

"Careful, Wren, I might have been rejected by you and have no right over you, but I do not share well," his voice had dropped low, rumbling in his throat, and she shivered. She had no answer for him, he smirked and then suddenly shifted and pressed his lips to her cheek. She was so astounded that she just froze and was staring at him.

He slowly moved away, the tip of his nose brushed across her cheek, and then his mouth ghosted over her ear. He had been right. She was weak, and he could do anything he wanted to her.

"Have the drink and eat, Wren, you will feel much better," he whispered and moved away. "You are wan." His face was very close, and she realised that she had only one choice now. She needed to run. She needed to leave the Mountain as soon as possible.

She nodded weakly, and he gave her a small warm smile. He rose and stretched his hand to her, helping her to get up. She clenched her jaw telling herself to ignore the warm palm and strong fingers wrapped around hers.

His astute eyes roamed her face, and some strange emotions flashed in them.

"Will you do me a favour, Wren?" His voice was nonchalant, but some sort of alarm tolled loudly in her mind.

"Of course, my lord," she gave him a forced polite smile.

"I know you have been shown around Erebor, but there is something I would want to show to you. I believe it would be much more interesting to you than the forges and the mines that you surely have been forced to look at and praise." She gave out an unnatural chuckle as if enjoying his joke, but his face remained unreadable and eyes sharp.

"I would be honoured to see what you want to show to me, my lord," she kept her voice even and amicable, but was feeling increasingly alarmed.

She told herself he could not possibly know that she was planning her dire escape in her mind, going as far as mentally packing her bags already, and it was nothing but an invitation, but his eyes were attentive, and she rushed by him and grabbed the mug from the tray. She needed to hide somewhere and the drink was the perfect excuse. She drank the grassy, slightly bitter draught, and he was watching her.

"Perhaps I could come here in an hour, after you eat and have some rest," the King offered lightly, and Wren once again bestowed him with an unnatural smile.

"Of course, I would be delighted."

She drank some more, he watched her, without moving or saying anything, his face reserved, and then he nodded and left the room.

* * *

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	60. Chapter 60

**A/N: Yes, ****dearreader****, pickled tomatoes are exceptionally good for hangover :D Russians make special soup, 'solyanka' with tomatoes and assorted pickles and smoked meats for specifically such occasions :D One of my specialties, actually ;)**

* * *

Wren put the next hour to good use, organizing her thoughts and trying to put some food into her stomach. It was much easier to think once the King was out of the room. Despite his words she was still overwhelmed with remorse over her behaviour. He might not have seen it as such, but she knew that the kiss had been about her being licentious. She did desire him and allowed herself to indulge. Brew had always affected her, but she could not help but think that a small part of her allowed such lack of restrain intentionally. It was not about how he perceived it, and of course she felt relieved he did not feel she had humiliated or embarrassed him, but for her such actions were still unforgivable.

Another notion became glaringly obvious as the result of last night's unfortunate happenstance. He was affecting her much more than she had thought. The kiss they shared when she had found him in her bedroom in the village was rushed, she was exuberant to see him, but she was also confused. It had been a sincere expression of their joy to see each other and her elation from his return. Now she was to face having an almost uncontrollable carnal hunger for a man she had no right to desire. It was quite a strange sensation, to crave him physically while being still completely certain in her answer to his proposal. Wren froze with a piece of bread in her fingers and wondered if that was what men were supposedly so prone to, sheer arousal without the consent from the heart.

She loved him of course, but she now knew she had loved childishly before. It was an idyllic melancholic longing, for a man who was as unattainable to her as possible, him being dead that was. Now he was alive, and he had been right then in his study. He was a live man with desires, with power, and capable of actions she was not able to control or even predict.

She shivered again, recalling the controlling, frightening palm pressed to the back of her neck, and the dark hunger in his eyes. He as much as stated he could have forced himself on her at that moment, and to make it even more horrifying he claimed he would have been able to convince them both it was something she had wanted herself. Wren thought back at the women whose bruises and strains she had to tend to and whom she had to prescribe herbs to, to cleanse their bodies of the horror that had happened to them. Was that not what women had heard from men who had assaulted them, that they had wanted it themselves? Wren rubbed her temples in agitation. He had not acted upon it of course, it would not have been him if he had. Thorin, son of Thrain was a noble man, but he was wrong in his thoughts. Once her weakened ill state were to pass, she would rebel of course, she would have regretted, and she would have felt violated. With each bite of bread and pickled tomatoes, which indeed were working wonders on her sickened body, she was feeling stronger and more resistant. The readiness to confront him and her own cravings was rising in her.

* * *

There was a small part of her that was also appreciative of him. He left her alone, gave her an hour, and in the last two days, once they had a proper chance to talk and know each other a bit better, she was starting to suspect he was much more perceptive than she had thought him before. He should have known that in the hour in her chambers she would be able to collect her thoughts and come up with a plan of actions.

Wren threw a look at her belongings. She could have started packing now, the feast was still going on, no one would notice her departure. Something told her that the King would not refuse her either, were she to ask for escort to take her back to the village. She also wanted to visit Thea in Dale, so she could just leave now and rent a room in an inn.

She had fulfilled what she considered her duty to his and Chief Beorn's people. She had come, accepted gifts, and had drunk at his feast. The relations between the peoples were strengthened, and now it was time for her to choose the course of action.

Wren decisively got up and brushed the crumbs off her fingers. She would do this one favour for him, one last walk in his Mountain, and then she would go back. She would see her dear friend, and then she would return to her service in the village.

* * *

She had just finished straightening up her attire and brushing and braiding her hair, when there was a knock again, and she opened the door for him. He stood, slightly frowning, his arms clasped behind his back.

"Shall we?" She nodded and joined him. He walked unhurriedly, not looking at her, and she measured her steps to his. He was silent, and she wondered what thoughts he was hiding.

They followed passages, from time to time they could hear distant noise of a feast or another, sometimes a courtier or a servant would rush by, with a heavy tray or empty-handed, but altogether their walk was uneventful. She realised that they were in the part of the Halls she had never visited before, and she forgot about her unease in his company and started twisting her head, looking around.

The magnificent foyers of Erebor were opening in front of her eyes, although after the past few days Wren could assert she stayed unaffected by splendour of the Halls. And yet she felt curious, it was obvious they were entering the Halls not intended for visitors' eyes. There was an air of privacy, personal care around the objects displayed around her. There were occasional book cases, and Wren felt a prickle of regret each time they would not halt in front of them.

At some point they entered a large hall, walls decorated with weapons and armour, and she froze at the door step. Swords, axes, shields, bows, the spectacle was both majestic and unsettling. The room was dimly lit and did not appear to have the same boasting intent to it. The King stopped at the threshold, and Wren passed him. She stepped to a smaller table by the wall and looked down. The weapons were smaller and looked like she could actually lift some of them. He stopped near her, and she felt shivers run down her back.

Keeping her voice even, she asked politely, "Are these weapons for a maiden?" He smirked, his eyes on the weapons on the table as well, and then he looked at her sideways.

"These are weapons for a child." He picked up a sword and turned to her. "Try it." She shied away.

"I could not..." She breathed out.

The sword was beautiful, blade wide, of traditional Dwarven shape, with the narrower forte, short stable cross-guard, the pommel's shape reminiscent of a crystal, hexagonal cross-section. He lifted his brow and just held it on his large palm. Wren gulped and then lifted her hand. She enveloped her fingers around the grip. The weight and balance were perfect, and she gave it a twirl. His brows hiked up.

"Do you wield a sword, honourable healer?" His voice sounded lower and raspier than usual, some sort of tension hiding under the teasing.

"I have had some training, but I am rather mediocre." Wren could not tear her eyes off the blade, which she held horizontally, and then she followed the fuller with the tips of her fingers. She suddenly heard the King exhale sharply.

"It is Mudikh, my first sword." His voice was emotional, and Wren's fingers froze on the cold metal. "I was given it when I was twenty, half battle-ready age."

The King was looking at her hands on his old blade, some fervent emotion splashing in his irises, and Wren's fingers trembled. A flurry of thoughts and emotions filled her head. She asked herself whether he brought her here to tell her of his childhood, and images rushed through her mind. He must have been a very beautiful child, she imagined, with his dark waves and distinct features showing breeding and future character. She then wondered whether weapons and armour were all Dwarven children saw in their early years. She shortly remembered that Bifur and Bofur had been toymakers before the Quest. Did it mean that there were toys for Dwarven children? But on the other hand, he was a Prince, perhaps his childhood was even more severe than she imagined was customary for the Khazad.

"Why did you bring me here?" She asked in a coarse voice, and he chuckled.

"I did not, you have stopped in this hall yourself. I am taking you to the Library."

Her eyes flew up to his face. He gave her a soft smile.

"Wren, you filled the hall in your dreams with books, although you thought I had no use in them. I assumed you would like to see the Erebor Library."

"I sneaked away from the merchants in my first visit to Erebor to find it," Wren blurted out and blushed. "I got lost then, and by mistake wandered into the Hall of Observance… There was your monument there, and the armour, and the Deathless..."

"Oh I hate that statue," the King grumbled, and Wren snorted.

"It was rather impressive."

"It is hideous, I look so pompous in it." Wren could not help it, her lips twitched, and although she pretended to be busy looking at the sword she still held in her hands, he caught her facial expression. "Oh I see now…" He rumbled in mock displeasure, cocking a brow and pressing lips to control a grin. "You clearly think it is a perfectly executed replica of the living man." Wren bit into her bottom lip to suppress a snortle. "Well, it is thankfully stuffed into a broom closet in the Lower Halls now, and I might decide to break it and use its parts as door stoppers. Best usage for it indeed..."

That was Wren's undoing, and she giggled. The King was giving her a mischievous semi-smile, and their eyes met. The moment stretched, and she just could not look away. He shifted, as if starting to lean in, and her lips tingled, in a longing to touch his. She immediately sobered up though, and inhaled, preparing to halt him.

The booming roar of the alarm bell thundered through the stone walls. Loud voices rang in the passages, and Wren heard the stomping of many feet on the floor. A servant rushed in the hall, and the Kind instinctively stepped in front of her, shielding her. The panicked scream in Khuzdul burst out of the gasping Dwarf, and then he blurted out in common speech, 'My Lord, the front gate is under attack!'

The King dashed to the exit of the Hall but halted and looked back at Wren.

"Take the sword! There will be no other weapon for you here. Return to the Guest Chambers! Find Dwalin!" He was barking commands, and Wren nodded and took a better grip on the hilt. She saw a second of hesitation in his eyes, and then he was gone.

* * *

**A/N: Remember that Battle of Erebor I made up and that started their history in Timeline #1? I was asked many times what happened in it and whether I have written/will ever write it. Well, here it is :P **

**This chapter corresponds with Chapter 6 in "Thorin's Return to Shire" (for more clarification you can look into "Thorin's Timeline" Chapter 2) but again, I have not written much about their beginnings in Timeline #1. I decided it makes sense to do it here, although clearly the history will go somewhat differently this time around.**

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**A/N#2: More details of Wren's early years, including a scene from the Battle, can be found in "****5 Time Your Name Was Not Yours****" one-shot. It is somewhere there at the beginning of my page… Rassilon help me, it's been a while… :)**


	61. Chapter 61

**A/N: The battle stuff is all the films, and the book, and whatnot. Bending the canon to one's convenience is the definition of fanfiction :)**

* * *

Wren ran through the passages, the Dwarven sword in her hand an unfamiliar weight. She was met with more and more Dwarves, some already clad in armour, many wet and dishevelled, probably after hasty attempts to sober themselves up. Several Dwarven women rushed by her, already armed, their breastplates and helmets almost hiding their gender, if not for the skirts thrashing around their armoured legwear. Suddenly someone grasped Wren's upper arm.

"Lady Wren, go to the Feasting Hall, Master Dwalin is waiting for you there," Lady Tora, the wife of Dain Ironfoot pointed somewhere to the right from where they stood, and Wren quickly nodded. The Lady of the Iron Hills had a terrifyingly looking, immense battle axe in each hand. "Come on, ladies, let us spill some Orc blood."

The feral, almost anticipative grin on the woman's face made Wren shiver. The healer knew the laws the life in Arda went by, but still she could not agree with the bloodthirst so many were prone to. Life was sacred to Wren, and even killing those monsters would often leave her conflicted. On the other hand, she could understand what the Dwarves felt, they were after all defending their home, and not for the first, or sadly, for the last time. The Dwarven dames stomped down the passage, Wren held the sword more comfortably and ran toward the Feasting Hall.

The tables had been pushed to the walls, Balin and Dwalin stood in the center, surrounded by several more prominent looking Dwarves, the schematics of the Mountain were spread on a table that had been cleared and dragged in the center of the Hall. Wren saw Gloin and Bofur and nodded to them shortly.

There was a heated discussion of defense strategy clearly happening among the Dwarves, and Wren stopped by the wall, leaning back at it. She was of no help. Dwarves would rush into the hall bringing news, previously having been sent to the keeps and embrasures. A courtier pushed by Wren.

"Lord Dain sends the news! No attackers have penetrated the wall at the North!" He yelled, and everyone in the hall looked at him.

"What did they expect?" Dwalin sneered through gritted teeth. He was weighing his axe on his hand. Wren wondered if he would have preferred to be roaming the Mountain, instead of being stranded in the Hall that now had become a command post. "That we would leave a backdoor nicely open for them?"

"We would have, if not for the honourable healer here," Balin nodded his head towards Wren, and she suddenly found the eyes of everyone present on her.

"Me?" She squeaked, endlessly uneasy under the scrutiny.

"Your dire escape after the destruction of the Arkenstone disclosed that there were several entrances into the Mountain that had been neglected and thus not properly sealed. One of the first things King Thorin ordered after his… return," Balin gave out an almost unnoticeable smirk, "was to ensure no one else would be able to slip out of Erebor. Or slip in for that matter. Were it not for your adventure, we would have orcs roaming Erebor at the moment."

"And now they are just bashing into the Front Gate," the King's voice came from the door, and Wren's body jolted. He marched in, giving her a small bow, and her breathing hitched. He was clad in full battle armour, the one she had seen depicted in the statue he apparently disliked so much. Glowing in silver and gold, with ridges and angular patterns running on it, with heavy pauldrons, and his helmet with a crown as if etched on it under his arm, he was even more intimidating, and, Wren had to admit, even more magnetic. He shook off his gauntlets in irritation. "They will not achieve anything, they can just sit under our gate and we will feed them our arrows."

"Do you think they have known of the passages in at the North?" One of the Dwarves asked, and the King nodded.

"I have just had scouts return from the Front Gate. The Orcs are led by Shaglad, Azog's younger son. Three years ago the Defiler had sent an army of wargs and goblin mercenaries to the Back Door, but they never got to fighting there because of the Eagles and Beorn's interference. Which means he had known of the ingresses. I reckon the pup follows the steps of the cur," the King spat out and placing his helmet and gauntlets on the table he leaned over the schematics.

"What are our weak points?"

"We do not have any, I believe," Balin spoke, his voice full of underlying meaning, and the King met his eyes. Some sort of understanding ran between them, and Wren's heart sank.

"Dale..." Dwalin grumbled, and Wren clutched her hands around the hilt of the sword. The Dwarves exchanged looks, and Wren could see several of them to murmur between themselves.

"Aye, they will soon turn to the city of Men..." The King muttered pensively, and the Dwarves started whispering even more frantically. No one was asking questions, and Wren felt like screaming at them to stop standing there and do something.

And then the King lifted his eyes and met hers. To Wren's utter shock, she saw curiosity splashing in his eyes. He was quite clearly watching to see what she would do. Wren bit into her bottom lip. He knew Dale had been her home, and she was of Men, so he of course knew she would rush to their aid and would feel like demanding him to do the same.

Wren was surprised to suddenly find herself calm and collected. She did not rush to him yelling and calling him to arms, she did not beg, and neither she felt like dragging him aside and appealing to his feelings to her for the sake of the city of Men.

She met his eyes and gave him a small respectful bow. 'You are the King,' her gesture said, 'All I can do now is to hope you are a wise one.' His lips twitched, in a ghost of a smile, and he slightly shook his head. She could just hear his voice in her head, teasing and somewhat exasperated, 'Always the prudent one.'

"If the Orc scum moves to the city, we will send an army after them. Gather the fighters," the King spoke in a firm voice, "Balin, you are staying in the Mountain. The Front Gate is yours, the Northern walls are for Dain. Dwalin, you are with me."

"Do we have enough sober ones?" Dwalin asked grumpily, and the King suddenly gave him a light grin.

"If not, we have enough barrels with cold water to dunk our heads into."

The discussion of the plan was quick and to the point, Dain Ironfoot joining them in the middle, not before he sauntered by Wren with his horrific hammer in his hand and a wink he had bestowed her.

Dwalin rushed out of the hall, followed by several Dwarven Leaders, and the King clasped his hand with Balin and then Dain.

"Mahal tadnani astû, sanzigil tamkhihi astû," the King's velvet voice wrapped around the words in Khuzdul, and sincere affection laced his tone. The Dwarves returned the gesture, and he walked towards the exit to the hall.

Wren stood frozen by the wall, feeling out of place and mortified. She was shaking, and suddenly realised that he would just walk out and there was a chance she would never see him again. He was going into battle, again, and this time there would be no Arkenstone to bring him back. She shifted, preparing to follow him, against all propriety, and most likely throwing herself on him with complete disregard to who would see and what they would think, when he turned to her and gave her a small soft smile.

"Walk with me, Wren," his voice was low, and she dashed after him.

* * *

They walked through a passage and the King quite purposefully slowed down leaving greater distance between them and other Dwarves, who, Wren had to concede, quite obviously sped up giving them privacy. Perhaps the kiss at the feast had not remained as unnoticed as the King had claimed.

He almost came to full halt, when Wren decided that was quite enough, grabbed his hand, and jerked him towards the nearest door. It turned out a linen pantry, the same white tablecloths they had feasted on just a day ago, neatly folded on shelves, and she turned around and threw her arms around his neck. He barked a short laugh and gently patted her back. The ridges of the breastplate cut into her flesh through the thin linen of her dress, but she only moved closer to him.

"Nothing like a bit of a threat to fall in battle to make a maiden less poised," he jested, and she grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled back, making him move away a bit and meet her eyes.

"That is me being grateful for your help to Dale," she snarled at him, "Do not think otherwise." His eyes were laughing.

"Dale is Erebor's closest ally, I am not doing it for you, ushaktul." The old moniker made her heart thrash, but she gave him a pointedly stern look.

"I can still be grateful for it." He smiled wider, and she huffed some air out. "And I might be a bit terrified that you are going into battle..." She mumbled, and he suddenly leaned in and pressed his forehead to hers.

"And the truth emerges..." He rumbled, and she closed her eyes.

"Do not dare getting injured," she wanted to quip but the line lacked the panache, since her voice trembled, and he chuckled in his throat.

"Perhaps just a tad. Then you would bandage me, and rub ointments into my old bones..." Her eyes flew open, and she stared at him.

"Is this some sort of Dwarven bravado before a battle?" She asked in disbelief, and he guffawed and then dove in, kissing her firmly and with gusto.

Her one, short thought, before her fervour for him flooded her and she lost all understanding of where she was and what exactly the reasons for her not doing it before were, was that he was indeed putting the calamity of an enemy attack to good use. He then moved away, slowly, savouring the last brush of lips.

"Do not go after me if we charge to Dale," he said, tilting his head pointedly.

"Why would I?" She asked genuinely. "I am pathetic with a sword and would only be in the way."

"Thank you," he answered, and she could see sincere relief in his eyes. His hand then lay at the back of her head, and this time she welcomed its warmth.

The next kiss was all her doing. She closed her eyes and caught his mouth, memorizing the sensations. The buss was tender and light, and then she pressed into him, her arms around his neck again.

"Be safe, Thorin."

"And you too, ushaktul." He suddenly crushed her into him, tightly, almost painfully, and then let go, and jerking the pantry door open he was gone.

Wren leaned back into the wall heavily and closed her eyes.

* * *

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	62. Chapter 62

**A/N: So... If I write a novel based on this story, but the only thing in common with it will be a girl seeing a dead King in her dreams and trying to help him to pass to the other side, will you read it? ****Say, in a web series on my blog? *shy shuffling of a foot* **

**And say, if there is a love triangle there, between the girl, the King and his right hand, and the blokes are redheads this time, and sort of pseudo-Slavic Vikings, and I come up with a language for them, and the map is half ready… Will you? :)**

* * *

**A?N#2: "Mahal tadnani astû, sanzigil tamkhihi astû" means "Mahal guide you and mithril find you," it's a blessing for luck and is often used as a farewell (Source: Dwarrow Scholar. The bloke is a genius! Look him up online if you feel like it)**

* * *

Hours passed. Wren sat on an uncomfortable hard chair in a corner of the Feasting Hall. Balin was receiving reports from warriors and issuing new commands. People would come and go. A courtier showed up several hours later bringing food and drinks, and the Dwarves ate, earnestly and unhurriedly, but Wren refused her plate. The King's sword lay across her lap, and she was stroking its fuller almost unconsciously. The smooth coldness of the blade brought miniscule relief.

"You should eat, it might be very long," a soft voice came from above, and Wren lifted her face. She blinked several times, returning to the present moment, her mind having been frantically thrashing for hours now. And then she required a few more moments to gather her wits from the view of the timid Dwarf named Ori, in full armour and with a sword clasped to his belt. "Lady Wren..?"

Somehow the view of the man she had always thought of as an author of the drawings she used to study in the Dale Library, suddenly as a warrior, made Wren shake violently, and she pressed one hand over her mouth.

His brother, Dori came up to them as well and silently handed her a cup. She sniffed, there was chamomile and mint in the drink, she assumed it was to calm her nerves.

"Thank you," she finally managed to rasp. Both Dwarves gave her slightly pitying looks, and she felt defensive. "It is just so unfamiliar…" She rushed to explain. "It is a war, but I am just sitting here..." She mumbled. "If there is a war, there are wounded, and then I just do my duty. Just sitting here waiting, knowing the Orcs are trying to get in..."

"They will not, my lady," Dori reassured her and sat on a chair near her. "They cannot go through the walls."

"But they will turn to Dale then."

"It will take time," Dori continued comforting her softly. "By then, King Thorin..."

Suddenly the doors to the Hall flew open, hitting the walls with a bang.

"They have charged!" A soldier rushing in hollered. "The enemy has turned to the Men! Once they reach the midst of the valley, the King is leaving through the Front Gate." Wren jumped on her feet, just like the rest of those present in the Hall.

"Alright, laddies, we are off then." Balin quickly picked up his sword from the nearest table. "We are covering the Gates."

One by one the Dwarves left the hall, leaving Wren behind them. She knew she was expected to go to the Lower Halls, where women who were not to fight and children were gathered, and she made the first few steps towards the door, when suddenly the world swayed in front of her eyes, everything swam and grew dark, and she gasped, and slumped on the floor.

* * *

_Ra nî lomil tamhari, akhsigabi azâgê... / And if the night is burning, I will cover my eyes…_

* * *

"Amad! Amad! Wake up!" A pair of large strong hands grabbed her shoulders painfully and gave her a firm shake. She moaned and opened her eyes. She was still in the same hall, but it was clearly a dream. The tables were back in their place, food and drinks crowding them, the feast untouched and ready for the guests, candles burning. The hall was empty, the chairs in even rows behind the tables, and Wren groaned and sat up in the middle of the chamber.

"Dain..." She whispered and met the pair of eyes, so similar to hers. "Dain!" She exclaimed and pulled him to herself.

He was kneeling in front of her, while she let herself enjoy the embrace for an instant. A slew of emotions made her drew a sharp breath in. Exuberant joy, surprise, and apprehension were dominant, her anger for his role in her previous aggravations, which she thought had passed, was still surprisingly fresh and acute, but it was not greater than the guilt she immediately felt upon seeing him. He was the son she had given up just a few weeks ago.

He firmly grasped her shoulders and moved her away from him.

"Amad, you need to haste!" His face and his voice were distressed, and she sought his expression for an answer.

"What is it, Dain?!"

"Adad, he will not survive today. You need to go to Dale. You need to save him." The one called Dain peered into her eyes, muscles dancing on his jaw, and she winced away.

"What?! Is he wounded?"

"He will be. It will be a mortal wound again, amad. You need to… go, amad..." Dain suddenly released her and sat down on the floor heavily. She saw how wan he was, eyes burning frantically, a glaring contrast to a calm, almost ethereal air he had had in her dreams before. "I do not have much time, amad, but you have to listen to me… I do not know if it will work this time, he had been dead, and everything went differently from the initial design, but you might still be there on time..." He was muttering feverishly, almost swallowing words, and it was Wren's turn to grab his upper arms.

"Dain, you are not making any sense! What do you need me to do?! Where do I go?!"

"To Dale." The man in front of Wren frowned and shook his head in frustration. "It was not to be this way, amad, the Orcs were to enter Erebor, and the fight that he was to fall in was to be near Ravenhill again, and then they attacked him, and you saved him, but not this time..." Wren's mind raced. She was not sure she understood, but she could not care less. She just needed precise instructions.

"Dain, stop this blabbering!" She barked at him, and his slanted eyes focused on her. "I do not care what could have been. I need you to tell me where to go and what to do now!"

"They are fighting through the city, he will be on the square in front of the King's House. I am scared, amad..." He suddenly breathed out, and Wren gasped. "You are different, you have no skill to fight… I am scared you will not live… You are not likely to survive, not without..." He trailed away and shook his head again. "It is either just him, or both of you… There is almost no chance..."

"Oh just cease this!" Wren suddenly screamed into his face. "You cannot tell me all this and then back away and expect me to stay behind! You know I will go! Then why renege again?!" He opened his mouth, but she did not let him speak. "I am so tired of this! You lied to me last time. And do not say you just concealed the truth, it was a blatant lie!"

"There were reasons, amad..."

"Curse your reasons!" She cut him off. "I am tired of you and the cursed Elves swindling me into doing this and that! What did you think then? That I would not throw the Arkenstone into that abyss?! That I would be too petty and would want to keep him to myself?! Why did you have to speak in riddles and make me think I was giving up the man I loved?! And now?! What do you want from me now?!"

"Amad, I honestly do not know if you should go, whether you will succeed and whether you will..."

A loud slap she placed on his cheek made his head jerk, and she hissed through bared teeth.

"Do not hold me for a fool, Dain, son of Thorin. You were well aware I would go to Dale now and try to save him! I will not hide in the Mountain, not after what you said, then why not to just get your head out of your arse and tell me anything that could help me?!"

Dain sat in front of her, his hand pressed over his flaming cheek, his eyes widened in shock.

"I do not know anything… It is all different… He will die without you, but I do not if you can save him, amad… Forgive me..." Pain distorted the man's noble features, and Wren's face scrunched in distress.

"I wish I could believe you, Dain..." He looked at her, his eyes remorseful.

"You have always told me not to trial your trust. Once lost it never comes back..."

Wren got up with difficulty and swayed. He lifted his hand to support her but she did not accept.

"I will go to Dale, Dain, but you already know that, do you not?" She sneered sarcastically. "This would be the good time to tell me anything you know openly, Dain. Playing me right now is just cruel..." She gave him a glare, and he dropped his head.

"I cannot say anything, amad… Everything is too disparate..." Wren pressed her lips sternly and nodded.

"Do I just go through the door as before?"

"Aye, and amad..." He called after her, and she looked over her shoulder, already walking to the doors. "Please, find it in yourself to try to forgive me. I did it for all of us..."

"And you failed, Dain," Wren spoke haughtily. "I have not married him, I will not bear you..."

"He lived. I could not wish for more, amad." Dain shook his head softly.

"I would have saved him even without your deceit, Dain." Wren gave him a pointed look, and pushed the door open.

* * *

_Ra adjini tada zasaziliki e... / I'll hope you'll remember me…_

* * *

It turned out surprisingly easy to slip away from the Mountain. Apparently after the King and his warriors charged to the city, the Gate were sealed, but Wren found a small side passage, and it did not take much effort to convince the guards to let her out, through a small side door.

She was well known, and she knew the most preposterous rumours regarding her had been circulating Erebor. The guards just opened the door for her, staring at her without any questions. By then she had found herself a chainmail, a cloak, and a pony, and she jumped into the saddle and followed the army of Dwarves into Dale.


	63. Chapter 63

The city was burning. The terror, the battle rage, the bloodthirst seemed to be charring Wren's skin as she ran clutching the King's sword in her hand, scorching her even more violently than the fire roaming through the streets, lighting them up as the Sun had already rolled behind the horizon.

All three races clashing their weapons in Dale were well prepared for fighting in it. Dwarves had always been well adept in meeting an enemy in confined passages under the mountains, Orcs had their dungeons and caves, people of Dale had mostly come from Esgaroth, its narrow streets even more difficult of terrain for a fight, with their slime and moist, than the cobble stone of Dale. Wren was not proficient enough in the art of war to understand which side was winning. She dashed and dove, mostly hiding and avoiding fight, reaching the square before the King's House being her only thought.

An hour later her sword was covered in black Orc blood, she was faring several bruises and a deep cut on her thigh, but she had no one but herself to blame for this one. The Orc she had to take upon herself was already wounded, weakened, but she was slow, having doubted to place the fatal blow on him. The next killing was simpler, she saw a child and a woman trying to escape two Orcs, and she acted without thinking. The Dwarven blade in her hand skewered the monstrous body of the first one, and a Man rushing by finished the second one with his spear.

Three wider streets led to the square that was the destination of Wren's journey, and she was finally on one of them, when a deafening sound of Elven horn flooded the city. Wren recognised the clean, almost triumphant voice of it and rejoiced. She also hoped that it would give strength to the fighters, she was starting to feel that the advantage was on the enemy's side. Her heart also dropped when she finally was on the straight stretch of the road she needed to take. It was crowded with Orcs, Men and Dwarves, and she understood she had to make a detour.

She ran familiar streets, and at some point she was cornered by two Orcs, when a group of Mirkwood Elves gracefully dashed from a side street, and Wren made several steps away from a bloody, yet short combat. An Orc head rolled on the stone, and Wren gulped fighting nausea. One of the Elves seemed familiar to her, and she saw him bestow her with a small nod. She returned it and rushed, continuing her mad dash through the city.

* * *

She saw a Dwarf sitting by the wall, his axe at his feet, both hands pressed at a wound on his side, and she wanted to run by, but it had never been her calling. She dropped on her knees in front of him and tearing wide ribbons from her underskirt she started bandaging him.

"King Thorin," she asked the Dwarf without lifting her eyes from her hastily working hands, "Where is he?"

"What are you doing here, Bahinh Khazad?" The Dwarf rasped out, and she looked at him shortly. "You were to stay… in the Mountain..."

"What does it mean? Bahinh Khazad?" She asked, pulling at the ends tightening the bandage.

"The Friend Lady of the Khazad… You gave us back our King..." Wren suppressed an emotional outburst and gritted her teeth.

"Much good it did. Where is he?"

"They were fighting… with King Bard… there..." The Dwarf weakly pointed where she was going on her own, and she groaned. She had no time.

* * *

Her soft leather shoes were slipping on the blood on the stone of the streets, but she ran. And then suddenly the houses on two sides as if stepped aside, and she was on the square.

The first person she saw, amidst the commotion of the fight, where bodies, blades and armour seemed all jumbled and weaved, was Bain. With a feral grimace distorting his features he dropped his sword on the neck of the nearest Orc, and the monster slumped on the ground. And then Wren saw his father, a bloodied sword in his hand, fighting side by side with Dwalin.

And then her heart clenched. In the center of the sea of monstrous muzzles of Orcs and their terrifying motley armour, she saw, as if glowing in the reflections of the fire devouring the King's House, the golden armour of the King Under the Mountain.

The blade of Orcrist swirled in the air, and three bodies fell, heads rolling in the opposite direction, and Wren suddenly froze. What was she to do? She was no help in a combat. She had not lied to him in the pantry, she truly felt she would only be in the way, and suddenly she felt terrified. Were he to see her, would that bring him distraction and perhaps even the demise the ghost of his son spoke about in her dreams?

All through her run through the city, one thought was nagging at her mind. Wren had always been ready to admit very few of her talents, but perceiving when one was lying to her was among them. It was one of those unconscious, purely intuitive notions she would get, almost just a feeling, unexplainable but almost never erroneous. Dain had lied to her before, and now she had learnt to recognise it. He had lied to her a few hours ago again. It was not a direct deceit, but she was certain he was once again manipulating her. Every time she thought of it, her temper would rise. Surely, it was no time for tricks and ambiguity, when the King's life was in danger. She could still forgive the last time, but this time she felt terror and almost despair.

All through her adventures, since her very first dream, she had felt as if she were playing her favourite chess, but her eyes were tied. She could not see the board and could only hope she was described the moves of her opponent genuinely. She had no choice though, and there she was, just a few blocks from the man she was to save or sacrifice her life for.

* * *

Being so focused on the combat in front of the King's house, Wren had missed the Orc. And then she caught a slight movement in the corner of her eye and instinctively winced away. She twisted, saw a terrifying muzzle, started lifting her sword, and then an Elven blade pierced the enemy's body. The Orc gurgled, blood rushed from the ugly mouth, and Wren took a step back. The two Elves, one of which had just killed the Orc in front of her, stepped ahead and then to the sides, and suddenly Wren was faced with the familiar shape of King Thranduil.

"Filegethiel?" Surprise coloured his features. Wren shortly thought that he probably looked as close to flabberghasted as his cold, as if etched out of marble face could express, and then suddenly a band of Orcs rushed at them from aside. And she threw a look at Thorin Oakenshield.

* * *

He was fighting two Orcs, larger than most, and she assumed those were the leader of the army and perhaps his right hand, and then one heavy mace landed on his right pauldron, and he swayed. The second opponent used the opportune moment and lowered his sword on the King's other shoulder. The King started keeling to the side, and that was when Wren started running.

One word swirled in her mind. 'Stupid, stupid, stupid,' she kept on repeating, in the rhythm with her heels hitting the cobbled stone. She was being stupid, but how could she not? It was him, Thorin, her Thorin... She knew not what she would do when she reached him, and whether she would be even able to, there were several combatting groups between them, but all she could see was his figure, and she just knew she had to be close to him.

An Orc that jumped at her had two swords, one shorter in his left hand, and Wren forever remembered his face. And then the first burst of golden sparks exploded out of her palms, a trickle of some sort of otherworldly glow swirled around and along the blade, Wren gasped, and a tongue of the golden fire slithered from the tip of the King's childhood blade and slashed across the throat of the Orc. Black blood spilled on his breastplate, and he fell to her feet, with disgusting gurgling noises erupting from his slashed esophagus. Wren shrieked. Not from the view of the dying monster, but from the shock and the overwhelming sensation of having utterly no control over what was happening.

Instinctively, she twisted and searched the King with her eyes. Somehow, he was the person she felt she could turn to at that moment.

"Thorin..." Her voice was weak and squeaky, and she saw him shift and turn to her, and then another wave of the same power, burning through her veins, making her body tremble and her head swim, the unfamiliar glow rushed out of her palms in horrifying intertwining ribbons, opening around her like a blooming golden flower, piercing enemies and slashing them, more and more bodies dropping, and she screamed in panic.

The Dwarven sword fell out of her hand, and she made several steps back, flailing her hands, trying to shake off the golden flames that would flare up and shower everything around her with sharp sparks from each frantic jerk off her hands.

"What?!.. What is happening... To me?" She screamed, her voice high pitched and hysterical, and then she lifted her eyes and saw Men, Elves, Dwarves and Orcs alike, frozen in preposterous, almost comical poses, some with weapons half lifted, many jaws slacked. "What?.."

And then the largest Orc, behind the King who had just made a small step towards her, shook off his stupour and lifted his sword again.

"Thorin!" Wren instinctively lifted her hands, trying to warn the King, and the golden narrow tongues rushed into attack.

Like in a nightmare she saw the ribbons slither away from her, on the ground, like giant swift snakes, first encircle the ankles of the Orc, crawl and creep up his legs, around the torso, and then to the neck, and then with a horrid tearing noise, which made bitter sick rise up her throat, the golden ribbons popped off the head of the Orc like that of a straw stuffed ragdoll.

And that was when Wren lost consciousness.

* * *

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	64. Chapter 64

The sensation Wren came back to consciousness with was a sharp angry pain in her right cheek. And the sound of the King's enraged voice.

"Lay another finger on my wife, Elf, and you will not have an arm!"

"I am no healer, honourable King," Bard's calm voice came as well, "But I think a slap is indeed the best King Thranduil can do at the moment. We are in the middle of the fight..." Wren groaned and tried to move.

"Indeed we are," the Elvenking's haughty voice trickled into Wren's ears, "Although I cannot say there are any enemies left after honourable healer here has performed her fascinating trick." Some growl like muttering in Khuzdul followed, and Wren finally managed to open her eyes.

She lay on the ground, three men kneeling around her, the Elvenking's face somewhere rather far away, King's Bard comfortingly holding her hand, and the Dwarven King's worried eyes right in front of her.

"What..?" She sounded as if under severe throat fever. "What happened?.."

"How are you feeling, Wren?" Bard and Thorin spoke at the same time, and the Dwarven King immediately glared at the Man.

"How are you feeling, honourable healer?" King Thranduil added to the choir, and Wren felt like covering her ears. Their echoing each other made the buzzing in her ears almost unbearable.

"I am… alright..." She mumbled, pulling her hand out of King Bard's fingers, and sitting up.

Wren looked around. The square was empty, with exception of dead Orc bodies. The fire seemed to be put out already, and Wren pressed her hand to her forehead.

"Have we won?.. Are they gone?" Her eyes shifted from one face to another, and the men exchanged some strangely uncomfortable looks.

"To be honest, Wren, we were never losing..." King Bard spoke softly, and then the King Under the Mountain interrupted him.

"It matters not. All that matters now is Wren's… health." He stumbled over the last word, and Wren focused her eyes on him.

"Health? What do you even mean? I am healthy! I am not not sick, I have magic!" Once the words were pronounced and seemingly hung between the four of them, the understanding dawned on Wren. "I have..." She did not manage to continue further, instead she drew a sharp breath in… and hiccuped. Which produced a small sparkle on her palm that she had outstretched in the air in a forceful gesture. The Man and the Elf winced away, while the Dwarf just slightly frowned.

"You have also fainted, ushaktul," he started in a purposefully even, soft voice. As if talking to a rabid dog, Wren thought, and she hissed at him.

"I have just produced a golden sparkle right in front of your nose. Does it not bother you?!" She sounded shrieky and nearly hysterical.

"You need to calm down, Filegethiel," the Elvenking's voice was no less restrained, and Wren whipped her head towards him.

"Calm down?!" This time the sparks were much more numerous and seemingly were born somewhere in the mane of her curls, which apparently had escaped the braids. The orange strands stood up, as if in a thunderstorm filled air. "I am like a flash fire pot!" Couple sparks ran from her flailing hands, bounced on the cobble stone, and Wren did not fail to notice that the Elvenking tried to discreetly move away.

"Ushaktul, we need to move you to a healer's tent," the Dwarven King opened his arms as if inviting her to climb into them, but Wren felt she had recovered sufficiently.

She jumped up, more sparks danced around her feet, and she emitted a frustrated 'ugh.'

"I demand answers! Where are the Orcs? Who won? Why am I spitting golden fire?" The men once again exchanged looks, and Wren groaned. "If one of you does not start talking right now, I will… explode!" Apparently they thought that in her case it was hardly a turn of speech, judging by how they all blanched, and King Bard rose on his feet.

"The Orcs are all dead, Wren. The ones on the square and in the nearest streets… Well, you slayed them. The rest were quickly taken care of. We received the raven from King Thorin that they were coming and had time to prepare. King Thranduil was on his way with his guards as well. He was a bit late and they entered the city, but we trapped them here and disposed of them quickly."

"And the Orc? The one I… beheaded?" Wren asked, addressing the Dwarven King for no reason. "Was that Shaglag, Azog's son?" She was trying to make sense of what had transpired. Had she not come here to save the King's life? She had seen him waver and almost fall.

"Shaglag had been slain about half an hour before you showed up, ushaktul. Those were just some Orcs..." The King's tone was almost apologetic. "And..." He started but then stopped himself. "Nevermind."

"And the second one was already dead, and your unfortunate victim was on the same path." King Thranduil apparently did not have any misgivings against directly informing Wren that her spectacular outburst was quite useless.

"Wren, we need to..." The King started again, but that was the end of Wren's patience.

"What we all need is to be quiet for a few instants!" She shrieked and pressed her palms to her temples. The men froze staring at her, and King Thorin obediently snapped his mouth closed. A small part of her mind vindictively noted that their compliance might have had something to do with the crackle of another shower of sparks she had just sprouted out of her splayed hands.

Her mind raced and whirled but after a few moments she had to concede that she surely had nothing.

"Have I done at least anything of use?" She asked in a small voice, and looked at the Dwarven King, and he rose at his feet and stepped to her. She felt her lips tremble, the exhaustion was settling in, and he pulled her to himself.

"Not much," his voice was soft, and she twitched in his arms. "Just slayed about half of the enemy's army, and most likely saved several lives." She sniffled, pressing her forehead into his shoulder, and his arms went around her in a tight embrace. "Well, not the Elf, he was well protected by his guards."

"I would not be that glip, honourable King Thorin." The Elvenking's voice was only slightly tense, but Wren snorted into the pauldron. She did not enjoy the cold metal and wistfully thought of the heat that always seemed to radiate from the Dwarven King. "Not with your blood dripping on the ground."

Wren jerked away from Thorin and quickly looked him over.

"It is just a scratch," King Thorin tried to reassure her, but she glared at him.

"Where?" She gave him a pointed look, and he sighed.

"Just the left arm, a blade grazed above the gauntlet." And then he suddenly visibly rejoiced and pointed at the King of Dale. "King Bard has it worse," his voice was inappropriately gleeful, and Wren immediately switched her attention to the Man. There was indeed a blood stain blooming on the side of his light chainmail, and Wren stepped to him.

"I am quite... alright..." She noticed that he was paler than usual, and she turned to the other two and hissed.

"Why are we still standing here?! Help him to the infirmary!" She grabbed the hem of the chainmail and his doublet, her hands quickly examining his side, lifting the tunic as well, and then she heard an unhappy noise from the King Under the Mountain. She venomously thought that now he was not that inclined to nudge her attention to the King of Men all of a sudden.

* * *

They had reached the infirmary, looking rather unusual most likely. The Dwarven King walked slowly, supporting the Man, who was growing paler and weaker with each moment, Wren was carrying her and his swords, from time to time checking on his wound that she had bandaged with the remains of her underskirt, while the imposing King Thranduil was following them, a guard behind each of his shoulders, his arms folded behind his back, with a completely aloof expression on his noble face. Through their walk Wren concentrated on helping the Man and managed to push her frantic thoughts at the back of her mind, which seemed to mollify the golden glow. She could still feel its presence, as if buzzing in her veins, but at least there were no sparks.

An hour later Wren was rushing around her old infirmary, tending to wounded Men, Dwarves and Elves. Due to her spectacular appearance in the infirmary, in the company of three Kings, and the rumours of what had transpired in the square all authority in the infirmary had been immediately delegated to Wren, and she was too concerned for the well-being of the wounded to agonise over it.

Her former Chief Healer just followed her for a while at the beginning, confirming everything she commanded, and after a while even that stopped. All healers were rushing around, no one would question her orders, and Wren thought back at the King's words about her being in control in her dreams and mourning its loss when they stopped. She indeed was quite enjoying being in charge. She had never before experienced power, and it was exhilarating. But then she would return her thoughts to the problem at hand.

Moving from one cot to another Wren indeed confirmed the assessment of the battle that the Kings had given her on the square. There were many wounded, but very few fallen in the battle, while all the enemy was destroyed. In short conversations Wren managed to have with her patients she found out that due to her lack of understanding of the art of war she misjudged the situation from the start. The Orcs were but wiped away by the swift and coordinated effort of the three races. Wren felt her cheeks flame from her conceited thoughts from before. She stubbornly would push her embarrassment over having thought herself something of a potential saviour for the King at the back of her mind and would concentrate on her service.

* * *

**My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

**Twitter: katyakolmakov**

**Instagram: kkolmakov**

* * *

**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

my first novel, based on a story written here

**Available on Amazon: July 15th, 2015**

**Kindle &amp; Paper!**

**Kindle pre-order: available NOW!**

Let me know if you pre-ordered and receive an exclusive 1000+ word piece

based on your specifications!


	65. Chapter 65

The wound on King Bard's side was deep, sides were jagged, and the healers were worried the blade could have been poisoned. The suspicions were not confirmed but due to her previous injuries, Wren could not take a blade and needle to it, but she supervised the Chief Healer attending to King Bard.

Soon the King of Dale was asleep on his cot, and while the Chief Healer slipped out of the chamber assigned to the King, Wren was detained in it by the King's children. Bain, unharmed in the battle with the exception of a few blooming bruises, Sigrid, and Tilda caught her when she was trying to leave it, and as much as pushed her inside.

"You are back!" Tilda whispered, keeping her voice down for her father's sake, her eyes shiny and exuberant, and Wren looked between the children in confusion. They all had very happy faces, and she could not summon what the reason for it could be.

"Are you going to stay now?" Sigrid grabbed her hand and shook it. "Da has missed you. He has been asking around for you, even went to Erebor once, with official visit."

Wren opened her mouth to correct the erroneous assumptions the children were making, when their father stirred in his cot. She grabbed the hands of the girls and dragged them out of the chamber. Bain followed, closing the door behind him.

"I have not returned to stay," Wren spoke firmly, "I just was here for an official visit to Erebor. I live in the Vales of Anduin now." She saw the Bardlings' faces drop, and suddenly her eyes stung. "But I am happy to see you..." And then Tilda's face scrunched and she pressed into Wren, wrapping her arms around the healer's middle.

"Will you stay for longer then?" The girl mumbled into Wren's apron.

"That is quite a germane question," the voice of the King Under the Mountain made Wren jump up. Tilda released her and stepped away from her, and the older children gave the Dwarven King small bows. Wren felt Tilda's hand find hers, and she looked at the girl. The bottom lip stubbornly pouted, Bard's younger daughter was giving the Dwarven King a glare, quite obviously staking a claim over Wren's attention, and Wren pressed her lips together to suppress a smile. "Could I steal you for a wee bit, honourable healer?" The King's cocked eyebrow was not helping Wren to contain her frolics, and she hastily nodded and turned to children.

"We shall talk later, you all need rest. And if you are capable, afterwards you should ask the Chief Healer whether there is something you could do to help." She realised she was being rather imperious, but the Bardlings bowed in agreement and left.

The King started walking away, and she followed him, feeling uneasy and almost apprehensive. So much had happened, and she still had so many wounded to attend, the exhaustion was also beginning to make itself known, and she felt ill and confused. She caught up with him, and then suddenly he pushed some door and picking her up under the elbow he pulled her inside.

* * *

It was once again a pantry, this time full of jars and boxes of dried herbs, and heady blush spilled on Wren's cheeks. She had indeed behaved so inappropriately in the pantry in Erebor!

Wren tried to keep as much distance between them as the tiny pantry allowed. It allowed quite little, and Wren's overtaxed nerves were in frenzy, from his proximity assaulting seemingly all her senses, from her nose filled with the smell of his skin, and leather, and smoke, her skin tingling from the warmth that was radiating from his body, and as much as she tried to avoid it, she could not help but glance from time to time over his torso, his doublet thrown over his healthy side, while the sleeve of his tunic on his left arm was rolled up, showing bandages on the cut, and to Wren's utter discomfort the muscles on his forearm, soft fabric also tracing the thews of the upper arm and the shoulder.

"I was not aware you are so confidentially familiar with the offsprings of King Bard, Wren," the King's voice was low, and Wren jerked out of her insuppressible ogling.

"I met them in their father's house, while I was searching for the ways to contact Lord Balin," Wren mumbled, staring at her shoes instead, but then she realised she was being defensive and jerked her chin up. He had no right to interrogate her, and that was how the question sounded, her evaluation confirmed by the view of his brows drawn together and lips pressed in a severe line.

"So, you frequented their home..." The King seemed to be making mental notes, and Wren exhaled in irritation. Surely, she had more important matters to attend than being faced with his proprietal urges, such as perhaps the wounded waiting for her care, to say nothing of the fact that she had slain half an army of Orcs with some sort of golden fire bursting out of her hands no more than a few hours ago. The memories of the occurrence on the square rushed back into her mind, after being ignored for so long, and she suddenly felt faint. Only the quick reflexes of a seasoned warrior allowed the King to catch her before she slumped on the floor.

"You need rest, Wren," his voice was concerned, and he helped her to straighten up and then seated her on the nearest crate.

"It is just… the tiredness after the turmoil of a battle… I have never been in a battle..." He knelt in front of her, and she shifted on the box awkwardly. He was too close, his hands were comfortingly stroking her upper arms, and she gulped. So many sensations were swirling in her mind, and for the first time in her life she had no strength to quiet her mind and organise her thoughts.

"Do I understand it right, you have never seen this magic either, ushaktul?" Wren felt too muddled to point out how inappropriate the moniker was.

"No, I have not. I have never even had a trace of it..." She was fighting the desire to lean ahead and to press her head in his shoulder, still trying to deceive herself that she only craved it because her head felt so heavy all of a sudden.

"The Elf said he had never heard of such magic. And the wimp has been alive for how long..." Wren was intending to mention that surely such appellation was not respectful especially between the Kings of two ally races, but instead she succumbed to the temptation and pushed her nose in the muscle between his neck and his shoulder.

"I am so tired..." She mumbled, and a long arm went around her in a light, considerate gesture.

"You do need rest, ushaktul. Even mighty warriors among wizards do." She snorted into his scorching shoulder, a warm chuckle rumbled in his chest, which she was surprised to find her own palm on, and accepting her own flawed weakness she wrapped the second arm around his neck.

"I cannot, I need to run the infirmary..." She muttered and nuzzled his neck. "Can we just stay… for a few minutes?"

"A bed would be much more commodious for it, ushaktul." That was the moment when Wren should have moved away and perhaps told him off in indignation, but a sudden fantasy of sharing a bed with him overpowered any sense in her. She found herself incapable of suppressing a wistful sigh. She once again pretended to reassure herself that surely, the King's words were utterly innocent.

A hot palm lay at the back of her head, and then he started softly stroking her nape. Were she a cat, Wren would purr and arch her neck, pushing most sensitive spots under his calloused fingers.

"So, how familiar are you with King Bard?" He spoke, unsuccessfully feigning disinterest, and she would have rolled her eyes, were they not squinted in pleasure.

"Shush..." She blindly lifted the hand from his chest and gently smacked his shoulder. "I am resting, just as you told me. Once I can keep my eyes open, I will address your inappropriate possessiveness and gratuitous suspicions." A hearty bark of laughter was an answer to her, and then the King moved fluidly and effortlessly, sitting on the floor and pulling her on his lap. Wren reminded herself to scold her weak self once she had an ability to hold at least one thought in her exhausted mind and curled in his arms.

"People are probably wondering..." She whispered, her fingers almost unconsciously drawing slow swirls on his arm. Her eyes were still closed, and she reminded herself she had to stay awake. And she had to concede that this resolution would probably have the same fate as all the previous ones.

"Whether we are kissing in a pantry?" This time the King managed to deliver his line with the most perfect nonchalance. Wren hummed and then a small chuckle escaped her.

"I do not think… I have strength even for that..." She did indeed try to open her eyes or shake her head, but all she could feel was the warmth of his body, and the comfort and the safety of his embrace, and she mumbled, "Do not let me sleep… long..."

Slumber took her before she could hear the King's response.

* * *

Wren woke up on a narrow infirmary cot, covered with two blankets, and to her utter surprise clutching the sleeve of the King's doublet in her hand. The garb also served as her pillow, which explained Wren waking up nuzzling its silk lining, breathing in the familiar smell.

She felt rested and somewhat calm, and after washing up she went down to the common room where several healers were having a hasty meal. They jumped up on their feet.

"How long have I been asleep?" She looked at the bread and cheese on the table, and suddenly she realised she was starving.

"About three hours," one of the healers answered in a small voice, and Wren sat down. She grabbed a slice of cold roasted lamb and sank her teeth into it. And only then she realised they were still standing, shifting between their feet. She lifted her eyes at them in confusion, they quickly grabbed their outer jackets from the backs of their chairs, gave her astonishingly low bows and rushed out of the room. Wren was frozen with a piece of meat still behind her cheek, when the door opened and King Bard stepped in, pale, but looking significantly better than before, supported by his son.

"How are you faring, Wren?" The King asked softly, his warm brown eyes roamed her face, and she gulped, loudly and with difficulty.

* * *

**A/N: If this pantry scene didn't satisfy you, go to Wynni's page and the next chapter in her "Broom Bearing Baggins of Bagend" will be a much lighter and happier version of 'Wren and Thorin in a pantry' :) She asked me to write a guest chapter and it will be Chapter 24. **

**Apparently, a pantry exchange is now canon, just like his guffaws and her blush :D I should write a series of pantry scenes through time and space :D**

**Actually, I'm brewing a much more mental idea these days. Just a barmy little something for your prompts. I'll keep you posted :D**

* * *

**My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

**Twitter: katyakolmakov**

**Instagram: kkolmakov**

* * *

**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

my first novel, based on a story written here

**Available on Amazon: July 15th, 2015**

**Kindle &amp; Paper!**

**Kindle pre-order: available NOW!**

Let me know if you pre-ordered and receive an exclusive 1000+ word piece

based on your specifications!


	66. Chapter 66

**A/N: ATTENTION!**

**I am posting THREE chapters at once today, just because you are such MARVELOUS readers! **

**Don't miss them! (And maybe review each separately? *battering lashes*)**

**This one is 1 out of 3!**

**Love you all ardently,**

**kkolmakov**

* * *

Bain helped his father to sit on a chair in front of Wren and left with a small bow.

"I am quite well, thank you," Wren mumbled. "I had a chance to rest, and now I am to return to my responsibilities." She was intending to get up, but the King suddenly lifted his hand in a cautioning gesture.

"Wren, let us speak first. The healers are following your orders from before, and surely you can spare a few moments for me," he gave her a soft smile, and she chewed at her bottom lip. Some sort of unease was tugging at her heart, but she reminded herself that he was nothing to her now, not even her King. As for what the children were so blatantly hinting at, that was clearly a misunderstanding.

"Of course, my lord. How can I be of assistance?" The King shifted on the chair, wincing from the pain in his side, and then he steepled his fingers on the rough wooden surface.

"Wren, I will be frank. Eloquence is not my strong suit, to be honest. I… I am offering you my protection." Wren gawked at him, not understanding his meaning. The King sighed and winced again, probably from the wound disturbed by his exhale. "Wren, what you have shown in the battle… The magic… It can be used as a weapon. I fear the Dwarves will try to possess it. I have overheard the conversation between the King Under the Mountain and Lord Balin. King Thorin claimed you were returning to Erebor with him..."

Wren frowned and hid behind a mug with water. King Bard was watching her attentively, but she did not feel this snippet of knowledge required her answer.

"Wren, you are of Men. You can stay in Dale, and I promise you my aid." Wren studied his features. He had offered her his help before and had been nothing but honest and honourable towards her. She yet again wondered whether his care was one of a monarch, or a father of two daughters. Once again, with relief and gratitude Wren felt no romantic interest from him.

"I am intending to return to the Northmen village, my lord. Once most wounded are tended to. That is where my home is now." The warm eyes of the King roamed her face.

"Will the Dwarves allow you to leave, Wren? Will their King?" The Man gave her a meaningful look, and she huffed air in irritation.

"I am no property of King Under the Mountain."

"He seems to feel otherwise, Wren. He called you his wife." Wren froze with her mug once again pressed to her lips. He did indeed. She was still half conscious when it happened but it returned to her now. She shook her head decisively, industriously ignoring how the memories were making her heart flutter.

"It is not his decision. I am returning to Master Beorn's village. I have service there. And besides, I do not think either of the peoples would be joyous to welcome me, in Erebor or Dale." Her voice grew bitter without her will. "You should have seen how the healers looked at me just now… Like I am a monster..." She choked on the words and then blushed. "Pardon me, my lord, I seem to be forgetting myself..."

"I do not think people see you as a monster, Wren." The King's voice was calm. "Your magic is clearly of the light. As for the healers… I would assume their reverence has more to do with the snarl the King Under the Mountain gave everyone who would even think of disturbing your sleep. He brought you into the treatment rooms and as much as barked that you were not to be bothered." King Bard gave Wren a warm smile, his eyes twinkling with mirth, and she tried to contain hers, but failed.

As usual she felt so endlessly torn in her thoughts and sentiments when it came to King Thorin. On one hand, his presumption appellation for her and, now according to King Bard, his plans for her aggravated her, and she felt like grabbing her sacks and running. On the other hand, his care was considerate and the more she saw of him now, not in her dreams, the more she seemed to, simply put, like him.

He seemed so enticing to her, his physicality, the movements, his sudden corporeality. She now realised what she had seen in her dreams had nothing to offer to compare to Thorin she saw in front of her. Dwarves were a race of physical, of fire, of greed for life, and he seemed the most fervent of them all to her. But no less she seemed to be attracted to his temper. He was fascinating, she could see how much his ordeal had changed him. He seemed accepting, grounded, almost serene, but there was passion and hunger for life hidden under this calm exterior, and altogether, she had to admit, she was starting to fall in love with him all over again.

"I am grateful for your offer, my lord," Wren finally spoke. "You have been nothing but kind to me through my whole quest. I am very grateful..." She repeated and impulsively covered his hand with hers.

"I was worried about you, Wren. When all this commotion with King Thorin started, when he woke up," the man smirked from the memories, "I knew you had your hand in it, and I only wished you could see it." The King went as far as laugh softly. "They had two Kings there for a while, and then myself and King Thranduil were invited to Erebor to testify that indeed it was King Thorin who rose from the grave. And then there was a feast, and a lot of ale was drunk." Wren smiled imagining the conundrum. "So I asked around about you. They told me you lived in the Northmen village now, but it was you who awoke him. And they told me of the Arkenstone and how you got wounded..." The King covered his and Wren's hands with his right one. "You do what you see right for yourself, Wren. If you need help, ask for it without hesitation."

Wren nodded and expressed her gratitude eloquently and ardently, but her mind was not at ease. She suddenly could not tell what exactly it was that she saw right for herself.

While she was still thanking the King of Men, a knock came from the door. King Bard released her hands and allowed the visitor to enter.

And then they both sat up straighter on their spot, watching King Thranduil come into the room. He had to slightly bend his neck, the door frame was not tall enough for him. As high in stature as the Men of Dale were, the Elf was at least a head taller, and a slight displeasure made his curved lips twitch. Wren quickly threw a look at King Bard and saw him suppressing a smile mirroring her expression. Indeed, the Elvenking craning his neck and tilting his chin looked much less intimidating, despite the shining armour and the long sword clasped to his belt.

Bain looked into the room from behind the back of King Thranduil, and King Bard slowly rose.

"I will leave you to it, Wren. But do remember my words." Wren got up to her feet as well and bowed.

"And I thank you again, my lord. Your kindness is highly appreciated." The Man nodded again, and with a small bow to the Elvenking he left the room.

* * *

Wren shifted her eyes and looked at the Elf. His face was unreadable but she could see the intense curiosity and almost apprehension in his eyes.

"May I speak to you for a few moments, Filegethiel?" His magnetic voice poured, and Wren sighed, accepting her fate. She would rather return to the infirmary and continue with her duties, but apparently she was to endure the line of kings to express their feelings and make their offers first. She pushed the treacherous thought of another King at the back of her mind, but still the nagging continued. She asked herself, against her will, whether King of the Khazad were also to come to declare his opinion of her and proposition her with this or that.

Wren invited King Thranduil to take the same chair the King of Men had been occupying just a few minutes ago, and the Elf sat down gracefully, throwing one leg in a tall elegant boot over another. The shimmering silver sides of his long coat opened, and Wren saw his long fingers, bearing many opulent rings, drum on his knee.

"I have to admit my unease, Filegethiel," the King started. "I do not find pleasure interfering in the matters of Men and Dwarves..." The stretched his hand to a mug placed on a tray with a pitcher of wine, and Wren saw long elegant fingers twitch.

'Apparently, the circumstances surrounding the Battle of Five Armies do not count,' Wren thought venomously and sighed deeply. She was feeling rather overtaxed and wished the Elvenking to already speak his mind. Her patience was evidently to be trialed today, as the silence reigned the room, and Wren sighed heavily again. The Elvenking pulled his hand back from the wine, evidently finding it inadequate for his royal self, and steepled his fingers on the table, in an almost exact replica of the previous King's gesture. Wren could hardly suppress a snort. She wondered if King Thranduil were to now offer her protection as well. Something told her he might have been.

* * *

**My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

**Twitter: katyakolmakov**

**Instagram: kkolmakov**

* * *

**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

my first novel, based on a story written here

**Available on Amazon: July 15th, 2015**

**Kindle &amp; Paper!**

**Kindle pre-order: available NOW!**

Let me know if you pre-ordered and receive an exclusive 1000+ word piece

based on your specifications!


	67. Chapter 67

**A/N: ATTENTION!**

**I am posting THREE chapters at once today, just because you are such MARVELOUS readers!**

**Don't miss them! (And maybe review each separately? *battering lashes*)**

**This one is 2 out of 3!**

**Love you all ardently,**

**kkolmakov**

* * *

"The magic you have shown in the battle, Filegethiel, is... new. It is fascinating. I have not seen it before." The King was studying her face, just like the Man before him, and Wren gave him a blank look. "But I have heard of it. And it makes me wonder whether you have as well." Wren shook her head and lowered her eyes at her own hands lying calmly on the table.

"It is the magic of Men from overseas. They had reached our lands many centenaries ago, long before the world as you know it was born. It is an old story, almost forgotten. But I am certain the Istari Council would remember of them. Curunir, the head of them, would especially. And again, we also have Mithrandir, with his curiosity into the affairs of Men and his unsubstantiated opinion that his interference is welcomed and full of merit. Something tells me both of them would want to converse to you, Filegethiel." Wren kept her face reserved, and the King sat silent for a few instants. He then focused his remarkable eyes on hers.

"These dreams you had, Filegethiel, the ones that returned King Thorin from behind the veil, was there anyone else in them?" Nothing seemed to change in the marble cold features of King Thranduil, but suddenly Wren felt a surge of protectiveness. Even if Dain was never to be born, in some strange way she was still his mother, and her heart told her she was to shield him from the interest of others, especially from King Thranduil with his purposefully nonchalant tone and seemingly indifferent face.

"No, there was only that Hall, and King Thorin was in it, and we conversed… And then Lady Galadriel told me to destroy the Arkenstone, and she hid from me what result it would yield." That gained her a slightly more interested look from the Elvenking. Wren realised that her distraction was working. "I was certain I was helping King Thorin to pass into the Halls of Awaiting, and she did not reassure me." The old offense painfully stirred in Wren's heart, and she pressed her lips together.

"Why?" King Thranduil asked, and Wren exhaled in frustration. "Why lie to you, Filegethiel?"

"I did not have a chance to ask her, we do not frequent the same lands," Wren spoke sarcastically. "But before telling me of the Stone, Lady of Lorien offered me a choice. I could have then chosen King Thorin to forever stay in my dreams. He himself had even agreed on that. But I refused, and according to Lady Galadriel it was my test." Wren smirked joylessly. "And I have passed it. I was led to believe I was giving up the man I loved, and I have. Freely and with full conviction."

What started as a ploy to distract King Thranduil from the young man in her dreams suddenly had turned into Wren pouring out her ache in reckless words, and she immediately felt embarrassed and shifted on her chair.

"Forgive me, my lord, I spoke carelessly and uncouthly, I am certain such matters interest you not..." The King lifted his hand halting her, just like his predecessor, and Wren grew quiet.

"With all this in mind, I seem to not understand one thing. Why is there still no crown of Erebor on your head, Filegethiel, the Dream Wanderer?"

Wren wondered if she heard right. Surely, that was a matter too private to be asked about. The King was giving her a mocking, slightly haughty look, with some sort of detached curiosity in his eyes, as if studying an unusual insect, and Wren fisted her hands on the table.

"He did as much as called you his wife," King Thranduil added, and his lips curved in a snake like smile.

"I do not believe my association with King Thorin pertain to our current discussion, my lord. We were speaking of my magic."

"It would be wise for you to consider these two matters relevant to each other, Filegethiel." Wren narrowed her eyes from the King's imperious tone. "I am certain King Bard had already tried to persuade you to stay in Dale. He surely sees potential in your magic as a weapon for Men. King Thorin is hardly blind as well. You could learn to control your gift, and then having you as a Queen would strengthen any Kingdom, of Men or Dwarves."

Wren sat in silence, pondering his words, and just as she had suspected from the beginning he finally moved his offer forward.

"Or you could come to my woods, Filegethiel. I would help you develop your gift, and the Mirkwood Library has boundless wisdom and knowledge to provide you with. No wizards will dare meddling, and no one would tie you down with their unwanted proposals. Come to Greenwood the Great with me, Filegethiel." The King leaned slightly ahead, and his hand moved towards hers on the table. "I will not lie to you, I am fascinated by your gift. I wish to study it. Let us help each other. You will rule your golden glow, I will have an endeavour to keep me enthused for years."

Wren's first urge was to refuse the Elvenking in the harshest of tones. She was no novelty to play with and to chase his boredom away with. But then she bit into her bottom lip and tried to give it a sober thought. The offer as condescending and impersonal as it was, reducing her to once again being just a vessel of something larger than her, was still generous. And somewhat tempting. She knew that Mirkwood would be the best place if she decided to study her magic. Wren took a calming breath in and met the Elvenking's cold eyes.

"I thank you for your offer, my lord. Could I have some time to consider it? I would not be able to make any plans for some time, I am still attending to the wounded, but once it is time to set on the road again, I am grateful to know Mirkwood will be waiting for me."

A small, but still triumphant smile appeared on the curved lips of King Thranduil, and Wren understood that he thought he had gained advantage in this sudden contest for her presence. He rose, she did as well, and with a bow he left the common room.

* * *

Wren heavily dropped back in the chair. Her head once again felt heavy, as if the three hours of rest had not happened. She pushed the plate away suddenly having lost her appetite. Rubbing her eyes, all she could think was that she should not have left the village. Her life was peaceful and simple, she had not been of interest to anyone, and no one was suddenly concerned with where she chose to live. Thorin was, a small voice spoke in her head. He had been then, and he was now. Except now everything had changed again, Wren mournfully shook her head. It was not just her now, it was that unwelcome, unexpected gift of hers. Just like before, she was not ehrslef anymore, she was a carrier of some sort of magic or another.

Wren stretched her hand before her and tried to evoke the glow. She watched her fingers, as if someone else's, curl and open again, but nothing came of it. She tried snapping them, and then she dropped the hand on the table. She felt rather ridiculous. She was not after all a mighty wizard, as King Thorin had called her jokingly. What did she expect? After two decades and some more years to suddenly possess a fully ruled magic? She could not have deceived herself though, the magic was still present. She could feel it course her veins. All Wren could think of was to simply return to her service.

Several hours later she was attending to a Man with a deep cut on his arm. By then only those with less severe injuries were left in the large front room of the infirmary. She tightened the bandages and allowed an apprentice to lead the Man away. And then she realised that the infirmary was much more empty than she remembered from before she so childishly succumbed to her slumber in the arms of the Dwarven King.

"Where are all the Dwarves?" She asked a healer rushing by.

"They have returned to the Mountain, those who could of course. Several hours ago, when you were sleeping. Their King had sent for carts, right after the battle, and some were moved back to Erebor… There are just a few most in danger left."

Wren felt her heart clench, and only an immense effort of will kept her from gasping and frantically asking the healer whether their King had returned to the Mountain as well. Of course he had. They were his people, and he was taking care of them. Wren gulped with difficulty and let the healer go with a curt nod. She had no voice.

* * *

Wren worked, and repeated to herself again and again that she had no right to feel as if he abandoned her. Even if she had had any claim over him, he was now only acting as an admirable monarch. And once again she would remind herself that she had no claim over a single minute of his time. She was nothing to him, she would repeat in her head again and again.

"Honourable healer, are you alright?" The Man, she was dozing a draught into a cup for, asked, and she looked at him in surprise.

"Pardon?"

"You are crying..." The Man awkwardly pointed at her face, and she hastily touched her cheek. It was wet.

"It is just tiredness, nothing of importance," she attempted a shaky smile, and commanded herself to gain more control over her emotions.

The day concluded, Wren was at the end of her endurance, and was eventually sent to get some sleep by the Chief Healer. She plodded stumbling into the same room she had woken up, and in the trembling light of a candle in her hand she saw the doublet of the Dwarven King, dark spot at the head of the bed. Wren's throat constricted, and she sat on the bed, purposefully not touching the garb.

She told herself it was exhaustion making her so maudlin. It was nothing but exhaustion that was making her crave his presence. Surely, nothing had changed, she repeated to herself again and again. She just needed rest, and she would feel like herself again. Everything would be understandable and clear next morning, she just needed sleep. She would return to the service tomorrow morning, then she would go back to the Mountain, pack her belongings, thank the King for the hospitality, and go back to her village. She was Wren of Enedwaith, the healer of the Beorn's village.

She stretched her hand, and the tips of her fingers bumped into the velvet of the doublet. Some sort of unreasonable stubbornness was suddenly born in her. She was not a mawkish, changeable girl, hot one day, and cold another. Perhaps she had lost her head over him again, but nothing changed. She was still no good for him. More so, she was not going to let the ghost of a son once again manipulate her into this union.

She of course understood. Dain lied to her, again, she bitterly thought, so that she would rush into the battle, instead of sitting in the Mountain. The battle would have ended without her participation, enemy disposed of quickly and effectively, and she would congratulate the Kings with their victory and would return to the village.

Instead, she quite literally showed the whole world of what she was capable out of her love for the Dwarven King. She burgeoned golden ribbons of flame and sparks, she slayed and maimed, with his name on her lips, she beheaded an Orc!

Irked, Wren picked up the doublet and decisively moved it to a chair by the wall. She was not going to be pushed over, she as much as hissed under her breath. She fell on the bed and jerkily turned on her side, facing away from the chair. The sheets, however, seemed to have carried the fragrance of his skin, from the doublet, or perhaps she had just imagined it, but tears rolled and as much as she kept on chastising herself, sobs followed. She muffled them by biting her fist, and after a while she fell into slumber, not noticing how she slipped into darkness, praying to Maiar no dreams were to come. None did.

* * *

**My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

**Twitter: katyakolmakov**

**Instagram: kkolmakov**

* * *

**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

my first novel, based on a story written here

**Available on Amazon: July 15th, 2015**

**Kindle &amp; Paper!**

**Kindle pre-order: available NOW!**

Let me know if you pre-ordered and receive an exclusive 1000+ word piece

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	68. Chapter 68

**A/N: ATTENTION!**

**I am posting THREE chapters at once today, just because you are such MARVELOUS readers!**

**Don't miss them! (And maybe review each separately? *battering lashes*)**

**This one is 3 out of 3!**

**Love you all ardently,**

**kkolmakov**

* * *

Wren was woken up by a very pleasant sensation, of warm fingers brushing her cheek, and she smiled still half asleep. Had she been more aware she would have reminded herself that she was not fond of touch in general, but instead she pulled her hand from under the blanket, caught the hand, and she had no doubt whom it belonged to, and pressed her nose to its center.

"Wren…" The soft voice of King Under the Mountain came as no surprise, and she squeezed her eyes more tightly. If she opened them, she would have to face him and return to reality. "Wren..." The King's tone changed, there was some cautioning in it, and he started gently pulling his hand away. Wren had a cowardly thought that if she pretended she was still asleep, she could clasp his hand and prolong her bliss. And then she gritted her teeth, let go of his hand, and forced herself to open her eyes. She simply had no right to toy with him.

The brilliant blue eyes were right in front of her, he was sitting on the edge of the cot, supporting himself on one arm, behind her, his other hand now suspended in the air, inched away from her face.

Wren's breath hitched, from the tenderness and vulnerability splashing in his eyes, and she felt her lips contort in a distressed tremble.

"I am scared… Of the magic… I am so very scared..." She whispered, and he suddenly scooped her in his arms and pressed her to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, clawing at him, searching some reassurance. Everything seemed dreamlike to her, an almost nightmare, hazy and distorted, and only he was indubitably real. Her fingers pushed into his hair, she felt a large copper ring hidden in the waves, encircling a thick strand, and she just could not find it in herself to move away from him.

"Why, ushaktul?" The King whispered back, and she felt his palm at her nape under the curls that escaped the do during the clearly restless night. "It is just a part of you… Intimidating, given," he attempted a joke, "But still just a part of who you are."

"I do not want it," she raised her voice. "I want to be myself, my old self… Just Wren..." She shifted and pressed her forehead in his shoulder. "It gave me these dreams, I know now… And I am grateful… It brought you back, but I want it gone now..." His hand was moving comfortingly on the back of her head, brushing the hair, and she kept her eyes closed, basking in this undeserved pleasure. She had no right, her strict inner voice nagged, but she was just so tired of fighting herself. The King sighed deeply under her hands.

"We all feel that way sometimes, Wren," his calm voice was like a balm for her frenzied nerves, and she listened attentively. "Everyone carries a burden. A quest, or a gift, or a crown… We all want to give it up sometimes..." He gently moved her away from him and cupped her face, making her meet his eyes. "But it would not do. It would be like giving up a part of oneself…" Wren felt her eyes widen, and he smiled to her, his smile soft and melancholic.

"Are you not afraid of me?" She asked, although she knew the answer to this question. She just needed to confirm one last thing. His smile grew wider and sunnier, and then a low rumble of a chuckle rolled in his chest.

"Why would I be, ushaktul?"

"I have magic," her tone was almost conspiratorial, and she felt it came out rather flirtily, so out of place, she felt, but he chuckled again, and suddenly leaned in and pressed a small kiss on the tip of her nose.

"You have always been magical to me, Wren."

She laughed, from how simple it all suddenly was, and how dim she had been, and then she embraced him even more tightly and moved closer, clearly inviting him into a kiss. One corner of his lips twitched, in a small lopsided smirk, and he accepted her invitation.

The kiss was slow, and sweet, and languished, as if not the first after all this misunderstanding and her resistance, but just a habitual light morning greeting, and then it changed, and he pressed her closer, and she gasped, from his crushing embrace, and he grabbed handfuls of her hair, and she felt that all breath had been knocked out of her, and then he toppled her on the cot.

* * *

Men were indeed the creatures of one thought, Wren shortly marveled. While a flurry of emotions and thoughts swirled in her mind, making her muddled and almost dizzy, the King seemed to have accepted that such were now their proceedings and was enthusiastically enjoying their sudden new line of actions. One scorching palm was already on her ribs, as if burning her even through the fabric of her dress, he was supporting himself on the elbow of the other, and his lips were exploring her neck. Wren's thoughts jumbled, but she still remembered that they had not discussed anything, and whatever revelation she had just arrived at, he was not aware of it. And yet it was quite clear he was not intending to ask for any clarification. He was quite preoccupied with pressing his mouth to the muscle between her neck and shoulder, while his fingers were deftly working on the lacing of her dress. Only when the tips of his fingers brushed at her skin above the collar of the undertunic, her reasonable part finally rebelled and made itself known loudly enough for her to press her hands into his shoulders.

"Thorin, what are we?.. We need to halt..." She rasped out, and the King hummed into her skin, and then the hand slid between the two halves of the already open bodice, brushed her middle and decisively moved higher. Wren thrashed in his arms. "No, we cannot!.."

The King's body jolted, and he growled, gathering his will, and she felt a shudder run through him.

"Wren, you have to make your mind now..." There was a certain menace in his tone, but she understood, and it was her turn to cup his face and make him look at her. His eyes were pained and almost mad, and she curled her fingers into the rough black whiskers of his beard in a simple reassuring caress.

"We cannot, not now, not here… The door is not even locked, am I right?" She smiled to him, trying to show him she was not refusing him, and he blinked, some semblance of sanity returning to the burning irises.

"It is not..." His voice was just a rasp as well, and then he exhaled sharply and purposefully, reigning himself.

"And we have not talked..." She added, in a small shy voice, and he gave her a shaky, slightly exasperated smirk.

"I cannot say I am in the mood for talking, Wren," his words were curt, but she mollifyingly brushed her fingers to the side of his face.

"And yet we should… I thought you had left… And there is still the question of what I am to do… And I am so confused… And every time I am trying to leave you, something happens, and I do not know..." He was silent, his heavy body weighing on hers, his brows drawn together, and she could see he was taking measured breaths in. "Thorin, are you listening?" He exhaled again, in the same sharp manner, and gave her a clearly irked look.

"I am. I cannot say I understand much." There was a sting in his tone, and she shifted. He started moving off her, probably thinking she expected him to, and she grabbed the brocaded material of his doublet.

"No, please stay..." She pleaded and saw muscles tighten on his jaw in knots.

"You have a nasty habit of changing your opinion quite often, Wren. It will not do." Each word was pronounced separately, in a low enraged voice.

"I do not!" She yelped, and he opened his mouth, no doubt to offer her some venomous comment, but she rushed to continue. "I mean, I do change my mind. I did. Just now. But it seems more so because we do not understand each other." Her tone was begging him to listen, and he met her eyes. His were guarded, and she hoped he could see more in hers than she was so inarticulately trying to convey.

"Thorin..." She started softly, "Do you not think we should discuss it? Are you not surprised by what is… transpiring right now?" She blushed, stumbling over her words. "I have refused you before, and now we are bussing, and you do not know what I am thinking… And nothing is still clear… And now, with the question of my magic, and how it is connected to you, and we still have not..." She realised he was not listening. His eyes were distant, and she felt a prickle of irritation. "Thorin, do you not need to know what it all means?"

"No," he answered abruptly, his tone almost angry, and she frowned in confusion. He made a scornful groan like noise and pushed up from the bed. He sat up, his face irked, and she immediately felt cold. She shivered and pulled the sides of her open bodice together. "Wren, I will be direct. I do not want to untangle the convoluted convictions you invent for yourself. You have one mind today, you will have another tomorrow. You refuse me, and then you are kissing me. Whatever changes in our association only changes in your mind. Just now you decided you desired me, I was not going to refuse the generous offer." She jerked from his bitter tone. "I assumed, you would either have stopped me, or would have afterwards felt you had to apologise and repent, like after the feast. I was right."

"No, you were not!" She hissed at him. "It is not what happened!"

"Was it not?" He asked in a feigned calm tone. "Were you not going to tell me that the kiss was a mistake? That you are overtaxed and frightened, but you had no right to lure me? That was the word you used after the feast, was it not?"

"I was going to tell you that I was an imbecile before and I love you!" She as much as shouted into his face, and then they both froze, his face a sudden blank mask in front of her eyes, her eyes probably immense.

* * *

**My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

**Twitter: katyakolmakov**

**Instagram: kkolmakov**

* * *

**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

my first novel, based on a story written here

**Available on Amazon: July 15th, 2015**

**Kindle &amp; Paper!**

**Kindle pre-order: available NOW!**

Let me know if you pre-ordered and receive an exclusive 1000+ word piece

based on your specifications!


	69. Chapter 69

**A/N: Did you know I have the best readers ever? :D Yes, I do :D **

**Love you all!**

**kkolmakov **

* * *

His face remained unreadable, and she fisted her hands on her lap. He was sitting, his back straight, his expression almost haughty, and she shivered pulling the halves of her bodice tighter together.

"And how long will this new conviction last?" The King's voice was cold and even, and she felt as if he slapped her across her face.

"That is unjust, Thorin… I have never lied to you." She frowned, taking careful breaths in.

"You promised your love to me and refused to marry me just a few weeks later," he gave her a grave look.

"That was not what happened! Are you forgetting the events in between?!" She cried out in agitation. "You have returned from the dead, and I had destroyed the most valued treasure of your people for you, and then I thought you dead, and mourned you for five moons!"

"And then I came back, and you refused me!" He snarled back at her, and her hands flew up in an exasperated gesture.

"Maiar help me, what sort of stubbornness is that?! Why do you refuse to see it my way?!" Her voice was rising, and she surely should have considered that they could have been overheard, but she was so frustrated by his narrow-mindedness! "Look at it through my eyes! I fall in love with a man I am no match for, and then I am offered to be a Queen! Of course I refused you!"

"And now you are taking your refusal back! How am I to look at it now?" He suddenly roared at her and made a chopping gesture of his hand in the air. "Will you renege in another five moons?"

"No! I have only changed my mind because I fell in love with you!"

"Were you not in love with me before?!" He barked, and she made an almost growl like sound herself.

"Maiar help me, how can you be so thick-headed?!" And suddenly, for the first time in her life losing her composure thusly, she pushed him with both her hands, her palms smacking his chest loudly. The assault was so unexpected that she managed to make him rock slightly, although Wren could not have thought in possible before, his body massive, broad and seemingly unmovable. His jaw slacked, and eyes boggled. "I had known you for just a few weeks, and I was mad about you, but you were to die, to be gone forever, and what sort of love was it?! I am not a green village girl to be in love with a man I have imagined to myself!" She was getting louder and louder, and he seemingly even shied away from her. She suddenly hissed, shaking her index finger in his direction, almost poking his nose. "Do not dare berating me for that time! I was loyal, and I bled for you, and I mourned you! But it was surely not a foundation for marriage, you stubborn Dwarf! You even feel different now, you are like a stove!" Her voice was hysterical, she was flailing her hands in front of his face, and his eyes were growing wider and wider. "You have dust in your hair, and you were so clean then! I feel muddled when you touch me! It is worse than brew! And it had been just a dream then, and now I start shaking when you enter a room! I needed time to learn you! I could have resented your flavour, or smell! How was I to know what I think of you if I did not know you?! And I felt you do not know me! And then they all just started sauntering in with their preposterous proposals, all this talk of protecting me from others, and my magic! And then you just come, and it matters not to you, you just accept me as I am! And I thought you left me, and it hurt!" She almost screamed now, strange sob like sound born in her throat, but she shook her head, taking sharp breaths in, words pouring out of her. "It hurt so much I thought I would never breathe freely again! And then you just wake me up! I might have been doltish, and I beg your forgiveness!" Her voice broke, and she folded her hands in front of her in a pleading gesture. "Thorin, I truly do, I cannot describe how regretful I am, but I did not know! And now I see that you know me better than any, than I myself do, and I was dim, but I did arrive there as well. I did, Thorin. Please..."

Her lips shook, and he grabbed the back of her neck with his calloused hot palm and pulled her into him. She hid her face in his hair, with a shuddering loud exhale, and felt him shake his head slightly.

"You are mad, positively mad. I have not understood a word of your mad rambling..." He muttered, and she grabbed him around his neck forcefully.

"I love you, it is all you need to know. I love you, and I will go with you to your Mountain." And then her usual debilitating doubt crawled into her mind. "If of course you still want me to..."

"Be quiet," he barked at her, and she closed her mouth with an audible clank of teeth. "Just be quiet." She nodded.

They sat quietly for a few instants, and then she felt him take a deep breath in.

"Did the Bargeman offer you protection?" The King asked gravely, and Wren tensed. "Wren? And the Elvenking as well?"

"Um…" She made a small indecisive noise, and his hands locked on her shoulders, and he slightly pushed her away from him. His face was dark, and she bit into her bottom lip. She felt they had not finished their previous conversation. She was hoping to receive some sort of answer to her indeed mad speech, and she as much as proposed to him herself, but his eyes were roaming her face, and she felt confused. She cleared her throat, scratchy and constricted.

"They have. They think that others will want to use my magic as a weapon, and they cautioned me… From each other in actuality, and from you… And King Thranduil also mentioned the Istari Council, and he said they would be interested in my magic as well." The King's eyes grew distant, and he went as far as to release one of her shoulders, his hand fell on his knee, and Wren watched it fist tightly.

"Your magic is indeed very capable, and I can see how one would want to reign it under one's power." His tone was pensive, and Wren winced away from him. His hand clasped tighter around her shoulder, not letting her move away. She could not believe it! When both King Bard and the Elvenking were hinting on his possible desire to usurp her power, she only felt irritated at them for thinking of him so low. But his words were almost making her doubt now… "If you truly do not want it, has any of them mentioned a way to rid you of it? Perhaps Tharkun could… You just said you did not want it, perhaps we could find a way..." Wren gasped in relief and threw her arms around his neck. He made a surprised noise.

"I do not care if I have it or not now, you impossible Dwarf!" She suddenly felt so giddy that she emitted a small laugh. "I do not care about anything! Let us talk about our previous subject!" His arms closed around her tightly, and she felt his bury his nose in her curls.

"What previous subject?" His voice was distracted, he was nuzzling her, seemingly seeking the skin of her neck in the mass of her curls, and she once again moved away and cupped his face.

"We truly are so different it is a miracle we got as far as we have!" She laughed louder, especially from the bewildered expression on his face. "Men and women do indeed speak different tongues! I have said I will go to your Mountain with you! Have you not heard me?"

"I have, but I thought it was understood from the start. I offered, and you finally agreed. What is to discuss here?" His tone was sincerely confused and slightly grumpy, and a short laugh escaped her lips.

"Maiar!.. How are we to live together if we are having two completely different conversations here?!" Somehow she did not feel upset by it, just disbelieving. "I am terrified my whole life is now to change, and you are worried of what wizards and other Kings are to do about my magic."

"Well, perhaps you should endeavour to be clearer in your words, Wren," the King spoke in an even grumblier tone. "You spoke of dust in my hair, and how I am apparently too hot to touch, and I do not recall you sharing any concern about your life changing."

That was the limit of Wren's control, and she roared with laughter and fell back on the bed, her arms wrapped around her middle. The King was glaring at her, and she just could not reign her inappropriate frolics.

"Maiar, your face..!" She rasped between bouts of loud laughter. "You are looking at me as if I have gone insane!.."

"You are insane," the King deadpanned, and Wren answered with a wave of new shrieks, hiccups adding to them with time. "You suddenly change your mind, kiss me, as much as accept my proposal, and then you yell at me! Something about my smell and flavour, and that I make you tremble when I come into a room!" Through his rebuke, pronounced in an irked flabberghasted tone, the King was growing increasingly irritated, and Wren decided that perhaps they needed another way of communication.

She sharply sat up, grabbed his shoulders and moved impossibly closer to his face, her nose almost brushing at his.

"I very much appreciate your flavour and your smell," she clearly pronounced into his eyes, and they grew darker, pupils dilating. "I am so enamoured with you that indeed I feel weak when you enter a room, and I have most definitely accepted your proposal. I love you and want to be your wife. Do you have any more misunderstandings I can clarify for you?"

She did not receive any answer to her question except for a very enthusiastic kiss, and she again found herself underneath him on the cot, her breath once again knocked out of her, but she threw all caution aside. If that was what he needed to believe her, she thought, she was ready to buss him in front of all three Kingdoms, and not just some healer that could wander into this chamber.

His hands roamed, and then he was peppering her neck and clavicles with short hot kisses.

"Are you not wearing my gift, ushaktul?" The King murmured into her skin, and Wren chuckled and wiggled underneath him, her hand snaked between the halves of the bodice that he once again opened, and she pulled the pendant he had given her from a small secret pocket on her undertunic.

"I sewed a hiding place for it. I could not wear it, healers cannot have dangling jewellery to fall into an open wound, can they?" She opened her hand, and he looked at the fire opal on her palm. He then lifted his brilliant eyes at her and smiled widely.

"So, aye?" He asked, and she had no doubt what he was asking about.

"Aye," she answered firmly, and then her mouth lost all ability to pronounce words, since it was very, very busy.

* * *

They were indeed caught by a healer who rushed into the room searching for her and quickly had to escape it, shocked by the view of the King Under the Mountain emitting rather convincing growls and trying to create even more disarray in Wren's clothes while she was laughing and battering away his hands, writhing underneath him but not deceiving anyone by her feigned attempts to break free.

King Thorin stayed till the next morning, and at dawn he left for Erebor. It was agreed that Wren would send a messenger to him when she was ready to leave Dale. They goodbyed in the stables. He was saddling a pony, his guards sent away to wait at a distance. He pulled Wren to his lips, and she readily arched into him.

"Do haste back to me, ushaktul," he whispered into her lips, and she smiled to him softly. She pressed her hands to the sides of his face and lovingly glanced over his features. His eyes radiant, the line of lips relaxed, he looked content and carefree, and she kissed him firmly.

"I will come as soon as I have the smallest chance," she whispered back, and with his hand on her jaw, his fingers under her ear, he brushed his thumb to the corner of her lips in the already familiar caress.

"Just remember one thing, ushaktul," his voice dropped lower, and he moved closer, pressing his forehead to hers. She held her breath, expecting some grave proclamation, but at the last moment she caught a glimpse of mischievous light in his eyes. "There are plenty of pantries in Erebor." Wren gasped and straightened up.

"Thorin..." She was only half serious in her exasperation, her cheeks were burning in embarrassment and giddiness, and he guffawed, pecked her lips and deftly jumped on his pony.

Wren stood and watched him and the guards disappear in a narrow street of Dale, and wondered whether he was, just like her, now thinking back at what had transpired between them in one of the infirmary pantries at night. And then she shook her head, brought her thoughts back at the service, and walked back into the infirmary.

* * *

**A/N: Do you want to know what happened in the pantry? :P There might be a chapter for "Me Together With You" half written somewhere here on my Google Drive… :D**

**A/N#2: This is not the end and I have some more thoughts for this story, but it is the beginning of the road to the happily ever after, which the characters and you, my darling readers, have so endlessly deserved after sixty eight turbulent chapters :) **

**Although, there is still a chance my muse to go bonkers and start demanding more drama for realism and character consistency purposes :P**

* * *

**My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

**Twitter: katyakolmakov**

**Instagram: kkolmakov**

* * *

**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

my first novel, based on a story written here

**Available on Amazon: July 15th, 2015**

**Kindle &amp; Paper!**

**Kindle pre-order: available NOW!**

Let me know if you pre-ordered and receive an exclusive 1000+ word piece

based on your specifications!


	70. Chapter 70

**A/N: So, here is what happened. I started writing a chapter for "Me Together With You" and then I realised that the two lovebirds do need to talk a wee bit more. Thus this chapter. After this one, if you are into that kind of stuff :) you should proceed to Chapter 5 in "Together With You." It will be posted in a day or two.**

* * *

**A/N#2: It even turned out to be twice the normal chapter length. I decided to let them finish the conversation instead of chopping it in two. **

* * *

_The day before the departure of King Thorin from Dale..._

The King spent the day in negotiations with King Bard and King Thranduil, who afterwards left Dale shortly after the midday meal. The King of Men was ordered to return to bed after several hours, his wound though not causing much concern was still draining him of his strength. Wren worked all day, rushing between the wounded, and she had not seen the Dwarven King all through the day. She overhead healers discussing that renovations had already started around the city, and both the King of Men and the King of the Khazad left the infirmary right after the departure of the Elf. They were to supervise the beginning of works, King Thorin having offered the support and the aid from his Kingdom, including the help from his men and whatever supplies Erebor could provide.

Wren hastily took her midday meal, without sitting down, in the common room, industriously ignoring the looks from other healers, then continued her labours till the sunset. After piling some provision on her plate, again without looking around, she hurriedly fled into the same room she had woken up in.

Wren ate, trying to disregard the buzzing of frantic thoughts in her head. She had agreed to marry the Dwarven King. More so, she had as much as offered herself. It was done now. She knew herself well though, she would continue thinking and evaluating, not arriving to any decisive conclusions, and as much as she craved peace of mind, her thoughts would continue swirling.

She had not lied to him. She had indeed had the change of heart. She realised now her love for him endured through his return, and what she had learnt of him in these short days, what she had seen of him, and what she now understood about her own mind, altogether told her she had a future in Erebor and by his side. It was the only future she now saw for herself.

The circumstances she had previously seen as obstacles for their union remained, nonetheless. She felt apprehensive of entering the Mountain as his Queen. The bigoted narrow-minded views of the Khazad, her former life she would have to give up, and now her unexpected gift were worrying her. She pulled the knees to her nose, wrapped her arms around her legs, and buried her nose in the skirt of her Northmen dress.

Wren desperately missed Thea and Martha. She had never been inclined to share her feelings and fears with others, but both women whom she had befriended were rather unceremonious, and although at times Wren found it aggravating once they would force her into voicing out her emotions, she would feel more at ease. Whom was she to turn to now? And more so, whom would she have to rely on when she were to be locked in the Mountain as the wife of the Dwarven King?

It was quite obvious there was very little understanding between her and her now future husband. All their conversations would end in either of them losing composure. Somehow, having great empathy and compassion towards others, Wren showed herself rather worthless when delegating her needs and emotions to the King. He, in his turn, had shown astonishing insight into her feelings at times, he had been patient and understanding. She felt she perhaps had fallen in love with him at large due to this new mature attitude of his, some sort of mellow acceptance colouring all his behaviour these days. And yet he was a man, and a Dwarf, and they seemed to speak different tongues most of the time.

Wren sighed and pressed her cheek to the knees. She sat on her bed, feeling rather sorry for herself, thinking that just as always in her life she just did not belong. Dale was not her home anymore, if ever; she once again stood out, previously with her small body and strange fiery hair, now due to the preposterous outburst of her magic and her association with the Dwarven King. In the mountain she would be ultimately out of place. She was now once again to move her belongings to a new place. She shortly wondered if she were to have a chance to go back to the Northmen for her things, and immediately thought in apprehension that she was now probably expected to wear different clothes and jewellery, and her herbs and medical tools were to be abandoned. An even more alarming thought came. What were Queens preoccupied with all day in actuality? What would be expected of her?

Her mind whirled and whirled, and she groaned and pressed the palms over her ears. She felt almost nauseated from her restless thoughts and worries, and she jumped on her feet and rushed to the table to pour some water in a clay mug she brought with her from the common room. She stretched her arm over the table, to reach the water jug, standing on her tip toes, everything was as always too tall for her, and suddenly the King's gift slipped from the small pocket she had sewn for it on her undertunic. With a gentle clank the fire opal pendant fell on the table and after rolling a small semicircle it fell flat on the surface.

She looked at the jewel and thought back on the words of the note accompanying the gift, a simple piece of parchment with his confident handwriting.

_You are my first ray of light, my dawn, my Thatrubaknul, the Morning Star that awakes and chases away the darkness._

And then Wren remembered that life did not consist of days alone. Half of a life was nights, and she thought back on the ones she had had. Always alone, always cold, her sleep always light and vigilant, she felt she had never fully felt safe during her slumber. Except those nights where she would walk into his halls in her dreams…

If she was his Morning Star, he was her Earendel, her Evening star. With him she had found rest and safety.

She thought of the days she had spent without him, and then nights she had spent in his arms. And how fortunate she had been to have had even so few, and how fortuitous it was for them to even have a chance for more. He had returned from beyond the death itself, and every day was full of dangers for each of them. How many times had he been in peril during the Quest of Erebor? The battles before it? Every day even now? He had been wounded, hurt, dying, again and again, a hair's breadth from being slain, pierced with a sword, beheaded, thrown off a cliff… He had returned, and he was alive, she remembered the heat from his body, the feeling of his skin under her palms, the light in his eyes, and then the taste of his lips...

And then she thought that she might have agreed to be his Queen during days. But at night, she would be just his wife.

Wren picked up the pendant, quickly put it on the chain she had carried in her pocket, and with the necklace around her neck she left the room in the search of the Dwarven King.

* * *

Wren walked the narrow corridors of the infirmary but the Dwarven King was nowhere to be found. She got momentarily distracted by a question from a healer rushing by, and then she grew doubtful and quickly escaped the building and stepped in the backyard. It was drizzling, the weather was growing cold these days, and Wren stood, lifting her face to the sky, feeling cold wetness of the rain on her feverish cheeks. Perhaps, she thought, it was for the best. She was indeed behaving indecorously. It was past midnight, and she sake his company. Also, she reminded herself, he was after all a monarch of an ally Kingdom, surely he was offered a room in the King's House. There was a wing untouched by the battle there, and they had probably made him a bed worthy of a King there. She was starting to think she was not only improper to look for him, but also rather conceited.

A soft rustle behind her made her whip her head and look over her shoulder. The King stood behind her, arms folded on his chest, in his habitual gesture. His face was soft, warm smile on his lips.

"Will you not fall sick, ushaktul? The Autumn is stepping into its rights."

"I love rain," Wren answered. "And Autumn. I love the golden leaves, and the melancholy of withering, and..." She halted her mawkish palaver and stepped to him. She lifted her hand but stopped in her tracks indecisively. "I was looking for you..."

"And here I am," he answered, the corners of his lips twitched mischievously, and Wren felt even more bashful. She lowered the hand raised to touch his. "I felt I should say goodnight, before going the King Bard's house."

Wren smiled to him, suddenly feeling much more at ease. She made a step ahead, and he opened his arms. She threw all decorum aside and cupped his face. Everything suddenly seemed so simple, and she moved into a kiss first. His hands lay on her shoulders, and he dove into the buss readily, his palms gently stroking her upper arms.

His breath smelt of wine and pipe smoke, and she could not get enough of the taste. He pulled her closer, his arms wrapping around her tightly, and she arched into him.

"I was looking for you because I am distressed..." she whispered when his lips slid to her jaw, giving her a moment to speak. "I just needed to see you..."

He slightly moved away, meeting her eyes, but not unlocking his embrace.

"Are we to speak of sentiments again, ushaktul? It did not work well last time…" She could see he was jesting, there were lovely crow's feet running in the corners of his eyes, but he was right. She smiled to him and shook her head.

"I did not seek you to talk…" She murmured, and although her cheeks were flaming she noted with surprise she was feeling rather bold. "What we are preoccupied with right now is the best remedy to my distress." The King guffawed and quickly kissed her lips.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. After a few minutes of caresses, she tore her mouth off his.

"I just want you to know I am marrying you for... you. I do not wish to be a Queen..." She felt she was not clear and wrinkled her nose frustrated. "I do not mean I object to being a Queen… or I would be unhappy… Or..." She once again felt she got tangled in her words, and she exhaled sharply. "I just..."

"I understand, my heart," he softly interrupted her, and she froze mid utterance and gaped at him. "I do… And it is indeed flattering." His eyes were laughing, and she bit into her bottom lip coyly. He cupped her face with his right hand, the left stroking first her cheek with the thumb, and then the back of her head with the whole scorching palm.

"You are anxious of the change and worried Erebor would not accept you. The life in the village was simple, and you are giving it up just to be with me." She felt her lips slightly open in sheer astoundment. He chuckled and the right thumb brushed her jaw tenderly. "I did listen to what you were as much as screaming in my face last morning. And had some time to think of it during the day..." And then his face wavered a bit, just a slight change in the line of lips, brows twitched, but Wren knew his face well. "And perhaps King Bard has tried to talk to me of what is none of his concern..." The King's tone was mildly irritated.

Wren stared at him and saw him sigh heavily.

"Do men even discuss the matters of heart?" she asked squeakily.

"They attempt," the King answered grumpily.

"And what happens?" Sincere curiosity rang in Wren's voice, and she moved even closer to him.

"Nothing happens. It is awkward and distressing, and we pretend it did not happen and have more wine." The King gave her a glare from under his brows, and Wren giggled. That was quite a picture.

"I thought men talk of battles, and training, and… the size of their swords," she could not help but tease, and the King cocked a brow. She immediately felt enamoured and flustered. The brow had such a whimsical angle, and moved as if on its own! Wren stretched her hand and ran the tip of her finger along the black smooth brow line, feeling silky whiskers under her digit.

"Everything about you is so bodily…" She murmured, hardly addressing him, and the brow under her finger hiked even higher.

"I do possess one, ushaktul." His voice dropped lower, rasped mixing into the fruity velvet, and Wren felt shiver run down her back, between the shoulder blades.

Strange possessiveness woke up in Wren, she pushed her fingers in his hair and grabbed generous handfuls. He did indeed seem so much more physical than in her dreams, and suddenly the realisation that all this physique would be hers to enjoy once they were to wed flashed in her mind. She rushed into a passionate kiss, feeling his strong wide body through the layers of his attire and her dress. There was indeed a body under all this velvet and silk and linen, and somehow she forgot to be preoccupied with propriety, and only feeling greedy and muddled and so in love.

"Ushaktul..." The King's warning tone made her halt, and she stared at her own hands on the buckle of his belt. Wren made a strangled squeak like noise and jerked her hands back. The mixture of astonishment, lust, and almost terror in the King's expression was stunningly familiar. Such had been his face when they had first come together in her dreams. Wren felt mortified.

"Oh Maiar… You must think me so lewd..." She tried to move away from him and hide her face in her hands, but he did not allow her, holding her shoulders firmly.

"Wren, I do not. Ushaktul, surely we both know that our circumstances changed, you do not have to..." The King started in a soft tone, when Wren jolted in his hands and blurted out.

"I do not know why it happens! And the second time to think of it! I do not even remember doing it!.." She felt tears roll onto her eyes, and the King chuckled and lifted her face with his index finger under her chin.

"And how often do you have these urges, honourable healer?" His tone was suggestive and teasing and so very indecent, and Wren blushed furiously.

"I understand we are to wed now, and we have after all… known each other in my dreams..." Her cheeks were burning painfully now, and she was staring at the clasp at the collar of his doublet to avoid looking in his eyes. "I just cannot help it… It just… And they accuse men of such behaviour, but my mind just seems clouded… And then my hands wander..."

The King was as much as laughing outloud now, and Wren felt irritation to add into the flurry of her emotions. Surely, he could have reassured her on it. He had shown very little restrain himself, just this past morning, and although he had been just following her lead, had something transpired between them, it would have been just as much his doing as it would have been hers.

Wren knew of the Dwarven customs, at least of their outward picture, and she also remembered the King's words pronounced that very first night. Had it been different, he said, he would not have lain with her before a wedding. This time there would be wedding. Wren decided that she had embarrassed herself enough and the safest choice was to flee. She made a step back from him, but he sharply jerked her back.

"Where are you going, ushaktul?" The King purred, and Wren had no other name for the soft rumble somewhere deep in his throat, and she shimmied her shoulders trying to free herself.

"Away from the… temptation," she muttered, and he barked a short laugh.

"Why would you? Were you not seeking me for exactly that?" A smug grin was tugging at the corners of his lips, and Wren pressed hers together in a stern gesture.

"For kisses, and perhaps for some reassurance. I was not intending to try to unbelt your trousers!" Her voice dropped into a low hiss, and he guffawed and grabbed her under her arms and pulled her impossibly close to his face. Wren felt light, like a kitten, easy to haul and lift, and she pressed her hands into his shoulders.

"What are you afraid of, ushaktul?" His voice was suddenly serious but still very tender. "No one will know if you allow yourself some liberties..."

"What will you think of me?" Wren cried out in distress. "I am to be your wife, and I show myself so lecherous!" His eyes roamed her face, as if trying to decipher her meaning.

"Firstly, I do not seem to show any more restraint than you, my heart. And again, we have already indulged in carnal pleasures."

She felt like screaming that it had been nothing but a dream, but then she remembered how angered he had been when she discarded their nights as only an illusion. Wren studied his face. The eyes feverish, brows drawn together, his jaw set, he was giving her a glare. How differently they saw their association, she mused. She was astonished by the sudden libidinousness she found in herself, while he saw nothing new in it. For him it was simple, they had lain together, whatever her actions were now, they seemed just a continuation of what had transpired. She felt like every kiss was the first one.

She opened her mouth to voice her agitation, and then once again she stopped and thought. Her hand instinctively slid up and she wrapped her fingers around his gift.

And she smiled to him and pressed her forehead to his.

"You are getting yourself a concupiscent wife, my King," she murmured, and noted the sensuality of her own tone. "I had never felt desire before, until you started frequenting my mind. Now all of it, having accumulated over years, is for you to endure."

"I cannot say I see it as a burden, honourable healer," the King echoed her tone, and she giggled.

"I thought I should warn you," she twisted her head and placed a slow kiss on his cheek above the black beard. Now, that she seemed to have understood his mood, she was feeling increasingly free. And happy, she was so happy!

"I appreciate the warning."

The King mirrored her action as well, kissing her cheek, and then his mouth slid along her jaw and he caught her earlobe between his lips. This one gesture told Wren everything she needed to know, without any words necessary. The King, having spent two nights with her, and she knew it, was familiar with most of her most sensitive spots, her neck and jaw being among the most favoured, and his unrestrained caress only confirmed what she had realised before. In his mind they had been lovers, and to her still great surprise he seemed to condone her lecherous inclinations.

Wren did the only thing she saw fitting in such circumstances. She started walking backwards, pulling the King after her into the infirmary. The small part of her mind, not fogged by the roaring of her blood and the almost painful arousal making her body burn, screamed to her to consider that they were going into an infirmary full of witnesses and surely the rumours would start, and she was to be a Queen, and the King Under the Mountain should not be seen groping her waist, and shoulders, and, Maiar help her, buttocks. On the other hand, the King seemed to have some shreds of sense left as well, so as soon as they tumbled into the door, he quickly looked over the corridor in front of them, and then he veered her, his lips once again on hers, and he smacked his palm into some door opening it and pushed Wren inside of what she quickly realised was once again a pantry.

* * *

**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

my first novel, based on a story written here

**Available on Amazon: July 15th, 2015**

**Kindle &amp; Paper!**

_**Summary:**_

_Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer, who after several hours of delirium from flu wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs in her bathroom._

_John, stuck in her flat in a snowstorm, is an archeologist working with her flatmate's boyfriend._

_Renee, frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her childhood trauma history, is nothing but disturbed by the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves, but perhaps he can become the first breath of spring in her frigid world._

_Renee's story is a story of healing and self-discovery._

**LAST CHANCE!**

**(not really but there are just two weeks left :D)**

**Kindle pre-order: available NOW!**

Let me know if you pre-ordered and receive an exclusive 1000+ word piece

based on your specifications!

* * *

**My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

**Twitter: katyakolmakov**

**Instagram: kkolmakov**


	71. Chapter 71

**A/N: My darlings, **_**Convince Me the Winter Is Over**_** has gone through editing and was uploaded into Amazon last night. So if you pre-ordered it, you will get it July 15th just as promised! **

**It was certainly a labour. I had about 12 hours of sleep altogether this week, in combination with Canada Day (I was still cleaning ovens in my bakery at 1 a.m. that night), but I did it! **

**So, John (tall, dark and blue-eyed of course :D) and Wren [oops, I mean Renee :D but he eventually calls her Ren, how smart am I? ;)] will be in your Kindle on time! **

**After July 15th you can also order a paper version. I'm absolutely in love with the cover! Totally worth hiring a professional designer!**

* * *

**A/N#2: ****Question****: I came up with a sequel idea for **_**Me Without You**_**. Should I just go on writing it, or do you want a separate story, me lovelies?**

* * *

**A/N#3: ****Another question****: My pseudo-Viking, love triangle story is taking shape and now I have to decide where it is going to be posted. I can put it on my blog or I was suggested Jukepop by a fellow writer. It is a free platform, and you, my darlings, can sign up there very easily, even with your Facebook. There is also Wattpad, but it is slightly batty, I would say. So, those of you who want to read it, will you go on Jukepop for it? Or do you prefer Wattpad? Please, advise.**

* * *

Few days later it became clear that Wren had no need in staying in Dale. The wounded were few, and they were on a steady path to recovery. The healers were respectful and polite with her, following her every order. She was not asked to retake her previous position though, or continue with what she was doing now, as much as fulfilling the responsibilities of the Chief Healer. Wren would feel rejected and offended if her thoughts were not absorbed in what lay before her.

She understood she was stalling. She justified not sending a messenger to the King Under the Mountain by waiting for her friend Thea to return to Dale. They had agreed to meet and spend some time together, and the company of merchants Thea was travelling with as their winegirl was held behind by the poor weather.

Wren would spend her nights in the same room where she had slept the first night. She was often lying without sleep, her eyes fixed on the dark ceiling, her thoughts whirling. Her mood would swing between elation, from anticipating being with the King, and apprehension. She did not doubt her decision of course and would just remind herself that whatever future circumstances worried her they were the price she was to pay for being his wife.

* * *

Thea's arrival did not disappoint. The doors of the infirmary common room flew open, hitting the walls with the leaves; and she rushed in, chestnut curls swaying, heavy velvet of skirts thrashing and silk underskirts rustling.

"Wren! My little bird!"

Wren was picked up and squeezed. A piece of bread was still in her mouth, and she swallowed it with difficulty. Thea continued grasping and shaking Wren for a few moments, until no breath was left in the healer, and then the winegirl finally put her down on the ground.

Completely disregarding the surprised stares from other healers in the room, she grabbed Wren's shoulders and yelled, "Tell me all about your glorious Dwarf! I need to finally know what is in their trousers, and Maiar, Wren, do not spare details! And the feast! I need to know all about the feasts! And the gifts from the Dwarves! The silks, were there the silks?! Gondorian lace?! I need to know! But first, the content of the trousers! That is hundreds times more important!"

Wren felt mortified, and opened her mouth to beg her friend for silence, when Thea stopped on her own volition. Unfortunately, it was not caused by her sudden realisation of how embarrassing it was for Wren and how shocking it was for others in the room. She only stopped because one of the healers, a large man, whose most common responsibilities were fixing dislocated joints, caught the winegirl's attention.

"Well, hello!" Thea's voice dropped low, into a sensual purr, and the poor lad blinked frantically.

"Thea!" Wren squeaked. She grabbed her friend's hand and started dragging the chestnut haired beauty out of the infirmary.

"I will be back..." Thea threw over her shoulder, and Wren groaned. Thea certainly would.

They were finally out of the room, and Wren pushed her friend outside, into the backyard of the infirmary. It was raining, cold water streaming from the dark clouds, and Thea wrinkled her nose.

"Thea, you made me look preposterous there! His trousers?! Did you lose your mind?"

"Oh come on, Wren, my love, that is the question that is on everyone's mind these days!" Thea waved her hand dismissively.

"It is not! No one asks themselves what is in King Thorin's trousers!"

"Wren, the last letter I got from you was from your village. You were leaving to the Mountain and expected the visit to be a torture." Thea found a bench under a small roof and sat down regally, fixing her opulent skirts. "Which shows how much you know! I bet there were gifts and feasts, and everyone praising and complimenting you. And as humble as you are, my birdie, you loved it!" Thea's eyes glimmered with impish light. "You might deny it, but I know you. You are an imperious little thing, when you allow yourself. And again, I bet your Dwarf did not waste the opportunity. So tell me, did you express your gratitude generously?" Thea wiggled her eyebrows, and Wren gasped in indignation.

"I would never! I hated every minute of it, and the gifts, and I only enjoyed the feast because I got accidentally muddled on the children's drink!"

"Oh, that is interesting! Did you attack your poor Dwarf with kisses and cuddles? I know you, Wren, you are an affectionate drunk."

Wren groaned again and dropped on the bench near Thea. There was no choice left, but to tell her friend everything.

* * *

Half an hour later, cold and hungry, they returned into the infirmary, Wren picked up her cloak, and they left for Thea's inn. There they sat with warm food and some wine for Thea, Wren had her tea and continued her story. Thea hummed, gasped and exclaimed appropriately, and then silence rang, and Thea shook her head.

"I am so flabberghasted right now… I know you are hiding something, and I am certain it is of the most exciting kind, but I cannot even milk you right now..." Thea twirled a mug in her fingers, and Wren blushed. She indeed forgone mentioning the episode in the pantry that took place during the night before the King returned to the Mountain, but Thea had an extraordinary intuition when it came to carnal matters.

"Are you certain, Wren?" Thea suddenly asked in a serious tone, and Wren saw her friend's brows drawing together, and an uncharacteristic grave expression in Thea's features. "Any other girl would jump at the chance of course, but I know you, love. Your head is just sort of..." Thea wiggled fingers near her temple, many rings glimmering in the light from the fireplace. "Different. I do not get you, but neither does your Dwarf most likely."

Wren smiled to her friend with gratitude. It was heartwarming to see Thea show attempted insight into Wren's mind, and especially her desire to protect Wren. Perhaps, Wren thought, she did not give people around her enough credit. The King and now her friend were not as blind to the inner doings of others as she had thought, and seemed to sincerely try to understand and support her. Perhaps, she was not as alone as she thought.

"I am certain, Thea," Wren spoke softly. "I know there will be difficulties ahead of me, but I am willing to face them."

Thea nodded, and they returned to their food. Of course, just a few instants later Thea finally breached the topic that interested her most, and Wren had to circumvent and mumble and blush. She was already giving up her positions and was close to finally disclosing her transgression with the King, when a man sitting at a table to the right, away from them, caught her attention.

He was tall, wrapped in a long, wide grey cloak, the hood covering his face. He had chosen a table in a dark corner, but Wren felt his eyes on her. Some sort of unease started buzzing in the back of Wren's neck, and she picked up her mug with water and pressed it to her lips, hiding how attentively she was watching him. He sat completely relaxed, his sword on the bench near him, but somehow Wren knew he would be able to jump at his feet at any moment.

Thea continued musing about certain parts of Dwarven anatomy, when Wren grabbed her sleeve and pulled her down to her face.

"Thea, pretend I am telling you something very exciting..." Wren hissed, and Thea gave her a confused look. "Pretend I am finally telling you about the King's physicality." Wren peered into her friend's eyes meaningfully. "Gasp and ask loudly something inappropriate!" Thea remained frozen for an instant, and then she made a small yelp.

"Maiar, Wren, that is glorious! Tell me of the width!" Thea's tone was completely natural, but Wren could see how tense Thea's eyes were. Wren loudly shushed at her friend and pulled her even closer.

"There is a man at the table by the wall, he would not stop looking at me."

"Well, perhaps he fancies himself some ginger ale," Thea joked.

"He does not. I think he had followed us from the infirmary. And he is just watching. I am certain he is not after me. And if he were in search of some loving, would not he go after you?" Wren widened her eyes pointedly, and Thea made an almost derisive snort.

"Do not be ridiculous. Men have diverse tastes. Maybe this one prefers small game."

"He is not after this, I am sure of it. But he is watching us now. Answer me again..."

Thea made another excited yip, and discreetly threw a look towards the table by the wall.

"He is hiding well, I will give you that." thea drew out pensively, "I cannot see the face. Though the legs are long, and the boots are expensive..." Slight interest laced into Thea's tone, and she screwed her eyes at the man again.

"Make sure he does not know we noticed," Wren hissed at her friend.

"Alright… But what do you want to do now? We can make some noise and sneak through the back door. Or we can quickly walk back into the infirmary. There were guards there, we can ask them to grab him." Wren gave it a thought.

"Back door. I do not want to walk by him. I feel strange..." Wren could not explain, but some unpleasant tension flooded her body.

And then she realised it was the magic. Since that Battle at the King Bard's House she had constantly felt its presence, but at the moment its pulsing in her veins was almost painful.

"Hey, innkeeper!" Thea suddenly yelled, and several heads turned towards her. "Wine for everyone! On my tab!"

* * *

**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

my first novel, based on a story written here

**Available on Amazon: July 15th, 2015**

**Kindle &amp; Paper!**

_**Summary:**_

_Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer, who after several hours of delirium from flu wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs in her bathroom._

_John, stuck in her flat in a snowstorm, is an archeologist working with her flatmate's boyfriend._

_Renee, frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her childhood trauma history, is nothing but disturbed by the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves, but perhaps he can become the first breath of spring in her frigid world._

_Renee's story is a story of healing and self-discovery._

**LAST CHANCE!**

**(not really but there are just ten days left :D)**

**Kindle pre-order: available NOW!**

Let me know if you pre-ordered and receive an exclusive 1000+ word piece

based on your specifications!

* * *

**My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

**Twitter: katyakolmakov**

**Instagram: kkolmakov**


	72. Chapter 72

**A/N: I decided against a new story, and the sequel will just go here. So, the new adventure starts in 3, 2, 1... :)**

* * *

After Thea's generous offer to pay for everyone's wine, the common room of the inn filled with movement and loud excited voices. People started coming up to the counter, some patrons were demanding this and that from their tables, barmaids rushed around; and in the overall commotion Wren and Thea slipped outside, into the back alley behind the inn.

"Come on, Wren, let us get back to the infirmary. Although I have to say, a man with such shoulder waist ratio might have been worthy a more attentive look," Thea pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, and Wren shook her head.

"It just did not feel right… I had this strange feeling..." she mumbled.

"As if your magic was waking up?" A calm velvet male voice came from behind them, and the women twirled on their heels. The cloaked figure from the common room stepped from out of shadows, and the hood fell back.

"Amrod!" Wren exclaimed, her eyes quickly running over his face. It was no doubt the former ranger of Ithilien she had said goodbye to in Beorn's village six moons ago. Her eyes roamed the attractive masculine features, with chiseled chin, dark eyes under thick eyebrows, the habitual mischievous glimmer once again dancing in them, a small smile playing on the sensually curved lips.

"And good evening to you too," Thea purred licking her lips. The dark brown eyes of the ranger shifted at the winegirl, and Thea's full plump lips twitched.

"Amrod, son of Mablung, at your eternal service." Somehow the ranger made the most decorous phrase sound most inappropriate, and the low bow was graceful and somehow also full of underlying meaning. Thea curtseyed and battered her lashes.

"And here we thought you are a lurker." The winegirl picked up the string of her cloak and twirled it between her fingers, her hand level to her opulent cleavage, somehow suddenly not covered by the aforementioned cloak. Long time ago she had explained to Wren that this trick always worked, and men could not help but drop their eyes at what she called 'her two lovely treasures.' If they did not look, Thea explained, it only meant they were better at hiding it.

Amrod, son of Mablung was excellent at hiding it. His eyes never left her face, but somehow even naive Wren knew. He did notice.

"There is still a chance I am a lurker..." the ranger drew out jestingly.

"In this case, I would step back, or you might have trouble lurking around, laddie." Another voice came from the shadows, and a short Dwarven fleshing knife pressed into the ranger's side.

"Nori!" Apparently crying out names of familiar men was Wren's main responsibility that evening.

"Evening, Bahinh Khazad," the Dwarf grinned and carefully poked the ranger's ribs. The latter emitted a feigned yelp.

Wren, Thea and Amrod spoke at the same time.

"What are you doing here, Master Dwarf?" Wren asked politely, already sensing she was not to enjoy the answer.

"And who is this?" Thea inquired, licking her lips like a cat before a saucer with cream.

"Could you stop prodding me, honourable sir?" The ranger's voice rang with laughter.

"I am Nori, King Thorin sent me to look after his yasith. In case of lurkers," the Dwarf pointedly lifted one brow and poked the ranger again.

"Oh in the name of Elendil the Fair, what a coincidence!" The ranger seemed rather unconcerned with the knife and grinned from ear to ear, his white teeth gleaming in the light of a torch on the wall. "I am here for that exact reason!" Wren stared at him. "Well, that is if by 'yasith' you indeed mean our honourable healer here."

"What kind of scout are you?" Nori feigned confusion. "A healer and a winegirl noticed you in a crowded inn."

"Quite a mediocre one, I assume." Completely unruffled, the ranger laughed gleefully. "But decent enough to notice you on the gallery, Master Dwarf." Nori gave an approving nod and stepped back, hiding his knife in his doublet.

"Are you done with the contest of your prowesses?" Wren asked venomously.

"No, no, let them go on. I want to know everything about their prowesses," Thea chimed in, and Wren threw her a glare.

"Am I to understand it right that each one of you was to look after me? As if I am a child or disabled!"

"You were not to leave the infirmary, Bahinh Khazad," Nori's tone was respectful but firm. "It is well guarded, while streets are full of prowlers."

"So far the only prowlers I have encountered are the two of you!" Wren poked her finger towards Amrod, not feeling that the Dwarf deserved her indignation. The King who had sent him was to answer for this, but so far she had a matter to clear out. "I understand where Master Dwarf is coming from, but what are you doing here?" She gave the ranger a stern look, but again, it left him completely unaffected.

"Chief Beorn sent me, since it is time when your visit was to conclude. But then I heard most interesting rumours, and decided to stay and linger in the shadows..." Amrod dramatically dropped his voice, and Thea snorted. Wren ignored her friend, but felt that surely the ranger did not require any encouragement.

"What sort of rumours?" Thea asked curiously, and then turned to Nori. "And what is that 'bahinh' thing you keep on repeating?" Wren saw the eyes of the Dwarf twinkle, appreciatively running over the woman.

"Bahinh Khazad," the ranger answered for no conceivable reason instead of the Dwarf, his Khuzdul astonishingly flawless, "It means 'the Friend-Lady of the Dwarves.' It is the moniker your friend was given for saving the life of the King Under the Mountain, supposedly twice in actuality. That is if you count her sudden manifestation of terrifying golden glow that slaid hundreds of Orcs and beheaded their berserker. Quite a spectacle it was, I have to concede..."

"You were here?!" Wren asked in astoundment, and he stepped to her and looked at her down his elegant noble nose.

"I could not let you go into battle without protection, Alfirin." His voice was suddenly grave and sincere, and Wren took an involuntary step back from him. And then she felt the pulsing of the magic run down the veins in her arms, and with a loud crackle golden sparks sprouted out of Wren's palms. All those present jumped away from her.

"What is happening?" Wren gasped out in confusion, shaking her hands, which only made the sparks more numerous, just as it had at the battlefield.

"It seems it does not fancy me," the ranger drew out as if lightly, but Wren's ear caught the underlying tension in his voice.

"I do not think it can fancy or not fancy anyone," Wren threw to him in irritation, still trying to shake the glow from her fingers.

"Then why is it eating only at my cloak, while our honourable Dwarf and Lady Thea seem safe from its spite?" The ranger shook the cloak off his shoulders, threw it on the ground and started stomping on its corner. A loud hiss came, as if the golden sparks were resisting and fighting back, and Wren shortly wondered whether his soles were now in danger of being charred.

"I do not understand..." Wren mumbled and could not think of anything else to do but to stuff her hands in the pockets of her dress. The sparks died out, but without damaging the fabric, and the ranger threw a pointed look at her pockets.

"Should I feel offended or flattered?" The rangers asked, picking up his cloak from the ground.

"Why would you feel either?" Wren asked frowning in confusion.

"Well, your gift is clearly mistrustful of me. Either it suspects me of malevolence, which I do not possess..." He pressed his hand over his heart. "Or it sees me as a rival to the Dwarven King's claim over your heart, Alfirin."

Wren opened her mouth to rebuke the Gondorian, but suddenly the world swayed in front of her eyes.

"Thea..." Wren breathed out, blindly stretching her hand towards her friend, but the pair of hands that picked up her slumping body did not belong to the winegirl.

Wren was to hiss at the ranger, but her magic precluded her scolding. A golden wave burst out of Wren's hands and slammed into Amrod's chest, making him release her and make several stumbling steps back. Wren felt Thea support her under the elbow, another arm protectively wrapping around Wren's shoulders.

"Are you dim?" Thea barked at the ranger. "You just said it yourself, it does not like you! So keep your grabby hands to yourself!"

"Thea, everything is spinning..." Wren rasped out, and suddenly she folded in two from acute pain in her stomach. It was very low, hardly caused by something Wren could have eaten, and Wren splayed her hands below the naval.

"Wren, what is it?" Thea's voice came as if through thick fog, disgusting ringing in Wren's ears making her shake her head, trying to chase it away. Everything around her seemed dimmed, even the scarce light from the torches was now seemingly gone, and Wren took a few large gulps of air. Nausea rose, and she twisted out of Thea's hands, fell on her knees, and the content of her stomach spilled on the cobblestone of the back alley.

She felt Thea pick up her braids, and several more deep heaves shook Wren's body. The vomiting did not bring relief, and she supported herself on one straight arm, wrapping her other arm around her middle. The pain twisted and slashed in her lower stomach, and Wren breathed loudly through its spasms. And then another wave of it rose, and all Wren could see was blinding white light flooding her vision, although her eyes were open, and then in front of her unseeing eyes there unwrapped an awake dream, a vision, the likes of which Wren had never had before.

* * *

**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

my first novel, based on a story written here

**Available on Amazon: July 15th, 2015**

**Kindle &amp; Paper!**

_**Summary:**_

_Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer, who after several hours of delirium from flu wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs in her bathroom._

_John, stuck in her flat in a snowstorm, is an archeologist working with her flatmate's boyfriend._

_Renee, frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her childhood trauma history, is nothing but disturbed by the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves, but perhaps he can become the first breath of spring in her frigid world._

_Renee's story is a story of healing and self-discovery._

**LAST CHANCE!**

**(not really but there are just seven days left :D)**

**Kindle pre-order: available NOW!**

Let me know if you pre-ordered and receive an exclusive 1000+ word piece

based on your specifications!

* * *

**My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

**Twitter: katyakolmakov**

**Instagram: kkolmakov**


	73. Chapter 73

**A/N: More author's notes, for you, my darlings. Please, bear with me :)**

* * *

**1\. Now, that the work on _Convince Me the Winter Is Over _is done (it went into print for paper version today), I am starting to work on the exclusive 1000+ word pieces requested by those who pre-ordered Kindle. **

**If you want one too, you still have 6 days to pre-order it on Amazon and ask for one for yourself ;) **

**They will be posted here, as a story titled _For You, My Beloved Reader, _as a collection of one-shots. Most of them are fanfiction, with Wren and Thorin of course, but Dain and Othin will make appearance, and Fili and Thea might have a chance to know each other better this time around ;)**

* * *

**2\. Pseudo-Viking love triangle story (I really should finally decide on a title, shouldn't I? :D) will go on JukePop. The site seems very convenient and user-friendly. Thank you, Just4Me, for testing it as well. Also, if I succeed on that platform, I might get paid. I'm being open with you here, my darlings. They reward the stories with most votes. The whole ten dollars a month! :D Yoohoo!**

* * *

**3\. Another piece of news :) One of the readers requested _Blind Carnival_ to be updated instead of asking for an exclusive piece for them! After some consideration I decided that _Blind Carnival_ will also go to JukePop. I have a designer working on covers for both stories there. I'll keep you posted.**

**4\. Am I not a chatty one? :D OK, that's the last one. Seltika, the wonderful talented Seltika posted some new of Thorin+Wren fanart on her blog whowanderlost dot blogspot dot pt. Check it out! It is majestic ;)**

* * *

**OK, I'm done.**

**Love you all, my dearies, a lot, and a lot more.**

**Yours truly,**

**kkolmakov**

* * *

_A Dwarven woman was screaming on the bed, in the pains of labour, and another one, probably a midwife was shouting some raspy commands in Khuzdul. Several more people were surrounding the bed that the woman in parturition was wriggling on, her face distorted by a torturous ache._

"_Push, sister! Let your son be born!" The midwife shouted, and Wren momentarily was surprised by understanding her. The woman was still speaking the Dwarven tongue, but somehow the meaning was clear to Wren. "Come on, Ais, one last effort!"_

_The woman on the bed screamed, a shrieky animal howl, and the midwife accepted a babe into her hands. It was a large, clearly Dwarven infant, healthy and active, and it screamed in that first loud cry of life Wren was so familiar with, having assisted so many births herself._

_Wren saw the cord to be cut and the babe to be passed in the hands of another midwife, who quickly wiped the newborn, swaddling him. Wren saw a thick crown of blonde hair on the head of the infant, and suddenly the mother thrashed as if in eclampsia and screamed again. _

_Wren saw those present in the room exchange looks, and an older Dwarf stepped ahead._

"_It is true then..." His voice was surprisingly strong for such an ancient looking person. "There is another one..."_

"_It is impossible," another Dwarf in the room spoke. "It is unheard of, a Khazad woman to bear a pair of offsprings."_

"_Step back, men!" The midwife barked at them. "Let the woman do her work! Who cares how many she is supposed to have? The more, the better. There are not enough Khazad in Arda… Though clearly there are too many in this room!" She added under her breath, still obviously intending the line to be heard by others._

_The men stepped back, grumbling, and one of them even threw towards her, 'I would watch your tongue, Svanna.' A derisive snort was an answer to the warning._

_And indeed in a few moments another babe was lifted and another cord was cut, and the second boy screamed at the top of his lungs, equally loudly but more shriekily. He was cleaned and swaddled as well, and they were put on their mother's chest. Her arms were too weak, to hold them close, and Wren saw the woman's eyes slowly move from one small wrinkly face to another. And then her dark brown eyes rolled back, and she slacked on the cot. The midwife rushed to her, the babes were moved away, and several midwives and healers were now hustling around her, but somehow Wren knew it was futile._

_Few minutes later everything was over, the babes were screaming in the arms of midwifes, and someone called for a wet nurse. The midwife called Svanna stood over the unmoving body of the mother, and when another healer placed a hand on her shoulder soothingly she jerked her head in distress._

"_Dwarves are not to carry two children, Svanna," the healer spoke softly. "There was nothing you could have done." _

"_There is always something that could have been done..." The midwife shook her head, and in a gentle movement, almost a caress, she closed the eyes of the mother. _

"_You delivered two babes at once, Svanna. There is still a reason for celebration." The healer picked up the second babe, who was already losing the purple colouring of a newborn, his cheeks growing rosy, and passed it to Svanna who looked down at him. There was a thick strand of dark hair standing at the top of his head, like a crest of a quail. The babe made a funny squeaky nose and flailed his arms in the air, as if trying to reach her. _

"_This one is a cheek..." Svanna chuckled warmly and shook her head. "While his brother is clearly the dignified one. And such different colouring..." Svanna mused. "I wish we knew if it were common..."_

"_Men have several children at once," the healer also looked at the boy in Svanna's hands. "And they are sometimes of different hair. Like cats," the healer added slightly derisively, but then shied away under the midwife's grave glare._

"_Keep your remarks to yourself, Eli, son of Dar. These babes are miracle. Do not tarnish their wondrous birth with your poisonous tongue and your dark thoughts."_

_Svanna shifted her eyes on the babe again, and the expression in her steely grey irises softened._

"_Well, hello there… What is your name?"_

* * *

Wren returned to her senses, with a gasp, clawing at Thea's arms. She was sitting on the ground, Nori was scooting near her, Amrod nowhere to be seen.

"Shhh, little bird, it is alright. The Gondorian already ran for a healer." Thea was supporting Wren, soothingly rubbing the back of her neck.

"You gave us quite a scare, honourable healer..." Nori had switched to her old moniker, no doubt from a distress. "How are you faring now?"

"The pain is gone, and I feel a bit easier… But I saw… I had a dream..."

"What?" Thea asked sharply, her eyes searching Wren's face, and suddenly Wren felt tongue-tied.

"Nothing..." She lifted her hand with difficulty and rubbed her temple. "It was just the fainting… I felt somewhat muddled now, but it is passing..." She moved, trying to rise, but Thea did not let her.

"No, stay! You frightened us! First you empty your kitten stomach on the ground, and whimper in pain as if you are being stabbed in your middle, and then you collapse and start mumbling in some tongue..."

"It was Khuzdul..." Nori spoke quietly to Wren's right, and she looked at him, catching his eyes. She drew her brows together, signalling him to be silent, and he nodded almost unnoticeably. Wren felt confused and as if after a proper beating. She needed to gather her thoughts.

"Thea, I want to get up..."

"No," Thea answered stubbornly, and then they heard the sound of several people approaching.

Amrod brought the Chief Healer from the infirmary, and two more healers, and Wren felt embarrassed and tried to refuse their help, but no one listened to her. Even more so, as much as she objected, Amrod picked her up in his arms and carried her back to the infirmary.

When she was placed on the same old cot, Wren had reached the end of her rope and hissed at everyone to just let her repose. No one dared to question her opinion on the medical side of her fainting, and she was finally left alone. Wren fell on her pillow, and in a few moments she was in the deepest of slumbers.

* * *

She opened her eyes and saw the dreary light creeping through the open shutters. Wren's head was aching excruciatingly, she was dizzy, and she felt the same odd nausea from the night before rise. She got up, and her head swam. She had just enough time to rush to the basin. She heaved, but nothing but bitter spit filled her mouth. She spent a few seconds bent over the basin, and then straightened up with difficulty. She walked to the table, drank some water, and after rubbing her face with wet cloth, she returned on her cot.

She sat on it for half an hour, bringing her mind to order. The vision was still clear and precise up to the smallest detail in her memory, and she rubbed her temples trying to wrap her mind around it.

Wren had to admit that the foremost emotion she was experiencing was some sort of irritated exhaustion. It was clear that another quest was upon her, and once again she was not given any choice. Combined with the taxation from the battle, and the unruly magic running her veins, all she felt was tiredness. She had not had enough sleep for many nights before, first attending to the wounded, then tossing and turning on the hard cot, sometimes from the memories of what had transpired in the pantry between her and the King Under the Mountain, sometimes in anxious apprehension regarding what her life were to bring her now.

Wren got up heavily and walked out of the room, sometimes supporting herself with a hand on a wall. She felt weak, and her knees were trembling. She approached the common room and heard loud voices, clearly arguing, and equally clearly about her.

"It is the second time you are taking her from under my care, after I find her, and again for the second time for that matter, in the state as close to dead as it is even possible!" Amrod's enraged voice rang, and Wren pressed her lips in irritation. "I am wondering if I should just drag her back to Chief Beorn's village. She had been clearly safer and healthier there, Master Dwarf!"

Wren felt her temper rise and clenched her fists. Who did he think he was? She was not his property and not even his responsibility!

"You are not her husband to decide anything for her!" Thea's tone was undignified, but Wren felt only more irked. Even her husband would not have such power over her. Being married did not mean being a slave, Wren thought, and felt her nails sink into her palms. And then the sparks crackles again. She gnashed her teeth, her magic was just another vexation of hers, and she lifted the hands in front of her.

"Be quiet, would you?" she hissed at the small ribbons of golden glow sprouting out of her hands. "What do you want? I dislike his possessive manner no less..."

Some noise came from the room, as if a chair was toppled on the floor, people shifted, and there was some low enraged grumbling, and Wren decided it was quite enough. She would not be a topic of a conversation, which included none of asking her for her opinion. Ignoring the sparks and glow she pushed the door open and stepped inside, opening her mouth to reprimand the impudent ranger.

Thorin, son of Thrain had the aforementioned ranger pinned to the floor, the Elven blade pressed to the Gondorian's throat and the left fist raised in an approaching terrifying punch.

"Thorin..." Wren breathed out in shock, and the magic flared, blooming around her like an enormous flower. He whipped his head and saw her.

Pushing off the Gondorian, the King jumped on his feet, the bared sword still in his hand, and Wren rushed to him. Nothing mattered but him at that moment, and she slammed her body into his. The golden ribbons wrapped around them, like a cocoon, slithering and as if caressing his shoulders and hair, picking up the strands and braiding into them. None of it seemed of importance to the Dwarf in Wren's arms. The Orcrist fell on the floor with a loud clank, and he squeezed Wren in a crushing embrace.

"Thorin..." She exclaimed again, this time her voice elated and relieved, and he slightly shifted and pressed his lips to her temple. "Thank Maiar, you are here..."

"I am here, ushaktul..." He softly spoke, his hands flying up to the back of her head, stroking her hair.

The magic, clearly pacified and appeased, coiled and slowly thinned out, and all Wren could feel was warmth spreading through her body. None of the abhorrent buzzing in her veins, no heaviness in the base of her skull, her body was suddenly blissfully light and balmy. She moved away from him, still keeping her arms around him, and met his eyes. They were slightly worried but shining with joy, and she smiled to him widely and unconcerned with anything else she pressed her lips to his.

* * *

**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

my first novel, based on a story written here

**Available on Amazon: July 15th, 2015**

**Kindle &amp; Paper!**

_**Summary:**_

Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom.

John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm.

Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more.

Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?

**LAST CHANCE for Kindle pre-order!**

**(not really but there are just six days left :D)**

Let me know if you pre-ordered and receive an exclusive 1000+ word piece

based on your specifications!

* * *

**My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

**Twitter: katyakolmakov**

**Instagram: kkolmakov**


	74. Chapter 74

**A/N: Just 3 days left till the release date for _Convince Me the Winter is Over_, my darlings! **

**I'm waiting for the proof copy to arrive from Amazon. To hold the paper one in my hands will be surreal! **

**Kindle is still available for pre-order, and don't forget to request your own 1000+ word exclusive piece if you pre-order the book. **

**Some of you asked for a story, and you will receive it in _For You, My Beloved Reader_. Those of you who instead asked for an update for an old story of mine, I'll be happy to oblige!**

* * *

**A/N#2: The first chapter of _Ani_, the first book in _King Einar Series_ (and yes, that is finally the title for the pseudo-Viking love triangle story:D) has been submitted for approval onto JukePop. I am very proud of the cover. Buying a licensed photo and making a professional cover definitely makes a difference. I'll keep you posted, my darlings.**

**Love, love you all,**

**kkolmakov**

* * *

Wren'a arms were wrapped around the King's neck, tightly, and all she could feel were her lips on his. She was kissing him greedily, and the faint voices, Thea's approving, and Amrod's frustrated, or perhaps jibing something sarcastic, were reaching her mind, but she could not care less. The King was answering her with no less ardour, his arms wrapped around her, the left one sliding higher, and soon wrapped around the back of her neck, the right one grasping a handful of her modest crumpled dress.

"Ushaktul," the King finally murmured, tearing his mouth off hers, "How are you faring?"

Wren laughed. Her laughter was unrestricted and merry, mostly amused by his mundane tone. He truly sounded like a husband who had returned from a hunting trip hardly a day long. She cupped his face and looked into his brilliant eyes.

"Quite well, my lord. And how have you been?" There was some childish giddiness bubbling in her, and she giggled. Just a few instants ago her life seemed gloom and intimidatory, and now she was grinning from ear to ear. The King gave her a merry, though slightly incredulous look over.

"I at least, my heart, do not faint in the middle of a street." The brow, hiked up and whimsically angled, did not help Wren suppress her malapropos revelry.

"Neither have I," she purred and ran the tip of her index finger along the smooth sick hairs in the brow. "It was a back alley." Wren heard Thea's silver laugh behind her, and she threw a warm look to her friend over the shoulder. Thea gave her a salacious wink, and Wren returned her attention to the Dwarf in front of her. "I need to talk to you, my lord. Could we speak privately?" Even Wren herself hear how suggestive her voice sounded. The King gave her another studying look and then nodded.

Without letting go of her, his left hand sliding down her arm and their fingers intertwining, he bent down and picked up the Orcrist from the floor. The gesture sobered Wren a wee bit, and she quickly threw a short look at the Gondorian, still sitting on the floor behind the King. She wondered if she looked like a naughty child grinning to others from the shelter of hiding behind an older sibling, and then the King started marching to the door, and she obediently followed.

* * *

This time it was no pantry, the King led her back to her room, and let her enter, following her and closing the door behind them. He hardly had time to turn around to her when she rushed to him and caught his mouth. The memories of what transpired in the pantry a fortnight ago were still fresh in her memory, and suddenly she found searing hunger for him run every cell of her body.

She teased his bottom lip with her teeth, her passion flaring up more and more, her hands wandered, squeezing his wide shoulders, grasping his hair, and she emitted a frustrated groan. The brigandine he wore over his doublet hid his body from her, and she just could not stand it. He returned her kiss, his caresses much more restrained than hers, and then his hands lay on her shoulders and he softly pushed her away.

"Wren, you have nothing to prove… I do not see any fault in you," he spoke softly, his tone slightly tense, and she blinked, astounded and confused.

"Fault?.. What?.." She frowned, trying to decipher his strange words. The King sighed and made a step from her.

"The Gondorian… I know of him. And as… impatient as I was with him," the King stuttered over his words, "I do not place any blame on you. He just forgets his place. Men often do."

The meaning was starting to reach Wren's mind. It felt as if a bucket of ice cold water had just been toppled on her head.

"You think, I am reassuring you in your jealousy towards Amrod," she mumbled, her tone even in its astonishment, and she fisted her hands. "I was just happy to see you… Relieved…"

"Wren, your past with the Gondorian matters not right now," the King's pointedly soft and even tone made Wren suck a sharp breath in. "All that matters is that you have fainted. I worry about your health, I think you should see a healer. All the overtaxation of the past weeks..."

"Did Nori tell you?" Wren interrupted the King. Her mind was whirring, and she turned away from him, pretending to be busy with pouring water in a mug.

"Aye. After you went to rest, he returned to Erebor and reported to me. He said you fainted, and he said you had been working very hard in the infirmary for the last two weeks..."

Wren started taking small sips of water that in all honesty she did not want. The King's mentioning of having sent Nori to spy after her had been yet another blow that she had received in the last few seconds. She could not decide which of the King's erroneous convictions she were to address first. And the question of her vision remained. She was grateful to Nori for not disclosing anything to the King. She suddenly could not find any breath in her to start talking of it either.

The already familiar nausea was rising, and Wren swayed. The King instinctively stepped to her, raising his hand, and she heavily sat down in the chair.

"Would you like to lie down, my heart?" the King asked concerned, and she shook her head.

Wren felt betrayed. Out of the swarm of the emotions thrumming in her mind the sense of the King violating the light and warm joy she felt upon seeing him was the strongest.

Everything seemed so simple and easy when she saw him. Nothing mattered. Neither the fact that her apprehension towards the future with him was her main aggravation these days, nor the fact that she found him threatening the life of a person who had saved hers, as much as swaying his giant Elven blade in the common room of the infirmary where she, though temporarily, served, none of it mattered. She felt exuberant. She felt she could share this new burden of hers with him. And life suddenly seemed just so much more coherent and simple.

And then she was reminded of her being watched without her permission, and the King's suspicions regarding the Gondorian took her by the surprise. She now felt heartbroken and cold, and grasped the mug in her hand more tightly.

Wren realised she was sitting, her eyes fixed on the wall. She was at complete loss regarding what she were to do now. Was she to swallow her pride and tell him all about the vision? After all, it was something more important than her little personal vexations.

She could try to defend herself, to explain that the Gondorian played a very small role in her life, that it was not what it seemed. On the other hand, would not explaining and defending herself be a sign of him having a single right to ask her such questions and make a judgement?

She wished he had trusted her. She wished he had offered to leave Nori with her in Dale. She would have understood. The rumours of their association were clearly spreading through the city. She was now his betrothed, a kidnapping for a generous ransom would have been one of the simplest calamities to befall her. She was now his weak spot. Her magic was also a confusing, yet a tempting variable. Someone could have had an idea to use it as a weapon.

She also did not enjoy his conceited manner of 'forgiving' her past with the Gondorian. She tried to understand what it looked like to him. There was no past. She assumed he judged based on Dwalin and Bofur's accounts of their quest, and Amrod's behaviour in the common room. Maiar only knew what the Gondorian could have said just now. And yet, Wren wished Thorin just had talked to her.

She felt weak and increasingly more sick, her hands were shaking, and her utmost desire was to crawl in the bed and hide under the thin and unpleasantly scratchy blanket.

The King scooted in front of her and picked up her hands. And then he received a faceful of angry golden sparks, fanning and seemingly jumping from the mass of her curls surrounding her head, having escaped the loose braid she had hastily and clumsily tied when leaving the room. The sparks hissed and burned, Wren could smell singed hair. The King jumped on his feet and away from her, patting his hair and the scarf around his throat. The sparks, after having made their attitude known, died out with a derisive hiss.

"What is this..?" The King asked befuddled, picking up one of the braids on the side of his face. The end of the braid was an inch shorter than an instant ago, and then the bead from it fell on the floor, with a mournful clank, and rolled somewhere under the table. "Wren, what is..? Is your magic mad?"

"Aye, it is," Wren's voice was apathetic and she took another small sip from her mug, this time in hopes to subdue her nausea a bit. "Because you are being a cantankerous, pig-headed dimwit, and I am so angry with you that I have no words."

Wren lifted her eyes from the mug and saw the King frozen, the slowly untying braid still lifted mid-air, held between his index finger and a thumb, his jaw slacked, and his eyes boggled.

Wren narrowed her eyes at him and put the mug down on the table with an angry thud.

* * *

**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

my first novel, based on a story written here

**Available on Amazon: July 15th, 2015**

**Kindle &amp; Paper!**

_**Summary:**_

Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom.

John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm.

Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more.

Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?

* * *

**My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

**Twitter: katyakolmakov**

**Instagram: kkolmakov**


	75. Chapter 75

**A/N: My darlings, my story _Ani_ (pseudo-Viking love triangle thingie :D) is now available on JukePop. Have a look! You can sign in the regular way or with one click through your Facebook.**

**Don't forget to vote up, comment, rate with stars, and review (obviously, if you feel like it :D) Gee, they really do give you ways to express your opinion of the writing, don't they? :)**

**I hope you will enjoy the joke of King Einar in Ani's dreams being sooooo not the King whom Wren saw in hers :)**

**_Blind Carnival_ will be moved to JukePop as well. I have submitted the first chapter and am waiting for their approval.**

* * *

"I am being a what?" The King remained in the same pose, his face still flabberghasted, and Wren folded her hands on the her lap. She was now suddenly calm, and drew a deep breath in before speaking.

"I was first very upset, then angry. I first wanted to explain, then I was frustrated with you and decided to just keep proud silence, but then I decided we have a quest ahead of us. And we are to be wed, and there will be plenty of other aggravations. There is no need to add misunderstandings to the number of our troubles." The King was listening, his brows hiked up in irked disbelief, and then he threw the unraveling braid behind his shoulder.

"I do not see what you could wish to explain, Wren. I have already told you, your past with other men is none of my concern. I was dead, and then you were mourning me. I have accepted your relations with King Bard. I have been patient with King Thranduil spreading his ludicrous attentions onto you. The Gondorian is nothing but another of your unfortunate suitors."

Wren felt her jaw slack. She apparently had been underestimating the extent of the King's confusion and jealousy. He stepped back and leaned at the wall, folding his arms on the chest in his habitual irked gesture.

"I did not appreciate his behaviour and his claims that he was in any way to determine your future," the King continued. "And his manner was provocative, and I lost composure… I had also been concerned for you. It made my temper rise… And he spoke of the time he had saved you in the Mountain, the time which you had felt it was acceptable to disregard in conversations with me..." The line of the King's lips was distressed, and Wren shook her head in frustration.

"Do you think that perhaps he had been provoking you knowing that I was to go down any moment for this exact reason? To make you lose your composure and show yourself exactly the rowdy barbarian I saw when entering the common room? Is it not what they say of the Dwarves, that your axe is faster than your head?" The King met her eyes, and she saw muscles dance on his jaw. Wren shook her head mournfully again.

"Thorin, I could not care less what the Gondorian said, thought or did. I just wonder why you did not feel it were necessary to ask me."

"Wren, we are speaking of the same things again and again, it is like we are riding on a mill stone," the King growled, his tone irritated. "I have already said..."

"That you care not about my past, Thorin. I have heard you. But you clearly do. You mention it, you notice things and interpret them according to your understanding. I am not upset that you think me alluring for every single man I encounter in my life, although I have to assure you, so far only one man in Arda was obtuse enough to become infatuated with me." Wren shifted on her chair in unease, her sarcasm sounding too harsh even for her ears.

There were a few instants of silence, Wren raised her eyes and looked at the King. She expected a sharp rebuke or a snarl, but his face was pensive. He was clearly pondering her previous words. A small hope stirred in Wren's heart.

"What are you upset about then?" the King asked softly, and Wren could not hold back a sigh of relief. She wriggled her fingers, wholeheartedly hoping she would be able to explain properly.

"I am upset that you did not ask. Whether I wanted Nori around, for example. And the answer would have been, aye, I would have. I felt very uneasy alone in Dale." The King was listening in silence, and Wren took a deep breath gathering her thoughts. "And you did not ask what had happened in the Mountains with the Gondorian. How I was dying in the frost, buried in the snow." Wren was looking at her hands, but even without lifting her eyes she felt the King jolt by the wall. "And then I saw Erebor in my dream. I ran to you and started banging on the door, and calling you. And you were not there, and I called..." Suddenly hot, large tears ran her cheeks, and she hastily wiped her face. "But then your voice came, from somewhere far… And it made me get up and fight again. And then when we met after it, after the wounds had already healed a bit, you said you heard me, and it had been just minutes for you… And you kissed me, and were happy to see me, and then our first night happened… I just could not bring it up..."

She felt the King kneel in front of her again, and she lifted her face and met his eyes, emotional and dark blue.

"Thorin, I never mentioned the Gondorian, or King Bard, or King Thranduil, because they never mattered. Whatever they felt, or did not feel, and whatever it looked like… They were just steps in my quest to help you. I have never felt like explaining myself to either of them, or rebuking King Thranduil for his assumptions and offers, or King Bard for his desire to protect and divert me from my quest, because… It just never mattered. You did."

A distraught grimace ran the King's features, just a few slight twitches of lips, and the brows, but Wren knew his face well. She was still hurting, and when he picked up her hands, she did not return the gentle pressure of his fingers. Her digits passively lay in his.

"Ushaktul..."

"Please, do not apologise. You have done nothing truly wrong. I just wish… we had more trust between us." Wren pulled one hand out of his and wiped her cheek from more tears running down. "I fear for us, Thorin. For what a marriage without trust can bring. I fear that one day you will see something, and make an assumption, and make a decision without asking me… And it will ruin us." Wren's grave words hung above them, but then she sighed and returned her hand in his palm.

She could not understand her own strange agitation, and her emotions running havoc. Some sort of strange premonition clouded her mind, and she sighed. She felt exhausted and nauseated again.

"Wren, I think..."

"Could I have more water?" They spoke at the same time, and then the King nodded, rose and poured water into her mug. She was taking small sips, feeling as if each one of them was pushed into her throat.

The King opened his mouth, no doubt to make some heavy statement, when Wren spoke in a small voice.

"And I was not going to say anything. I have important news to share with you, and my aggravations are truly of little importance now… And it is just the magic. I have so little control over it. None, to be honest..." Wren rubbed her temple in frustration. "It is clearly connected to you, to my feelings to you… It protects you, when I am scared for you, but then it attacks Amrod… He is not threat to you, no more than King Bard, or King Thranduil… Why burn a hole in his cloak?" Wren took another sip, and then noticed the King giving her an amused look.

"A hole in the Gondorian's cloak?" The King's eyes were twinkling impishly.

"Oh, do not look so smug. That was childish, and no less inappropriate than you swinging your giant sword!" That unfortunate innuendo gained Wren a soft chuckle from the King, and she puffed air in exasperation.

"Do I need to remind you, Thorin, you have just lost an inch of a braid for that very behaviour?" She tried to jibe, but the King only shook his head smirking lop-sidedly.

"Quite a worthy sacrifice. The Man was out of line."

"Thorin, he has reasons as well. He is wrong, but he thinks he is acting for my benefit." Wren blurted out, and the King's eyes grew sharper. His face then became distant, and Wren flailed her arms in the air. "That is exactly what I am talking about! I cannot even imagined what you are thinking at the moment! But that is what you are supposed to discuss with me, and not let your possessive mind roam!"

The King blinked and looked at her. Wren sighed and once again put the mug on the table.

"Thorin, Amrod is of no importance. We can talk of him, if it puts your mind at ease, but I swear to you right now, he is the last thing on my mind these days." Wren met the King's eyes and thought she saw some sort of change of heart in the glacial irises.

"If you give me your word, I will try to rein my jealousy," the King spoke slowly, as if choosing each word carefully.

"You have my word," Wren answered firmly, and after an instant of hesitation the King exhaled and nodded. Wren assumed that the matter could be considered resolved, at least temporarily.

"Thorin, we still have the question of my magic acting up, and me losing consciousness..." Wren started slightly distractedly, gathering her thoughts before starting to retell her vision to the King.

But she was interrupted by the King who suddenly barked a hearty deep bout of laughter.

"Well, I think I know the answer to both these questions." He was watching her face, intently, his eyes sparkling. Wren frowned in confusion and was planning to clarify to him that he obviously did not, since her vision was still unknown to him, but he stepped ahead, and she dropped her head back to look into his face. He smirked and picked up her chin, lifting her face, making her meet his eyes. "In actuality, I am almost certain I know the answer, Wren. You are carrying my child."

* * *

**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

my first novel, based on a story written here

**Available on Amazon: July 15th, 2015**

**Kindle &amp; Paper!**

_**Summary:**_

Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom.

John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm.

Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more.

Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?

**Only 1 Day Left To Pre-Order Kindle!**

**(and request your exclusive 1000+ word piece **

**written based on your wishes)**

* * *

**My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

**Twitter: katyakolmakov**

**Instagram: kkolmakov**


	76. Chapter 76

**A/N: The Kindle has come out, **_**Convince Me the Winter Is Over**_** on Kindle has come out! *sing-song voice* I'm enthusiastically mambo-ing around my living room! :)**

**Also, paperback is awaiting approval from Amazon. So, it'll come out later than expected *sad sniffle* but within five work days for sure. I'll keep you posted.**

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**A/N#2: _Blind Carnival_ is now starting on JukePop. Remember that one? Wren (Olivia on JukePop) is a trashy romance novel writer, John (always John) thinks he is bad in bed, they explore all that stuff she writes about in her books. Yeah, that one. I'll be posting chapters probably weekly. Come and play :)**

**On JukePop you also can follow a writer, put a story on your bookshelf to get updates, vote, write comments and reviews, and give stars. It's crazy :) They really didn't hold back, did they? :)**

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**A/N#3: A FAVOUR to ask *shy shuffling of a foot***

**Those of you who will read _Convince Me the Winter is Over_, could you please at some point find time and energy (oh, I already feel like I'm asking too much :S) and write a review for it on Amazon and Goodreads? It is just such an amazing, surreal moment, and I have truly worked really hard to accomplish it, so I decided I'd allow myself a bit of weakness and self-indulgence, and ask for it. Thank you for all your support and generosity!**

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**And now, to Dale… :)**

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"I am not!" Wren exclaimed, and then opened her mouth to argue some more and just somehow did not continue.

The King was standing in front of her, his index finger under her chin, lifted for her to look into his face, and a soft smile danced in his eyes. It was quite obvious he was enjoying the moment immensely. He was as much as savouring it, and his eyes drank her face in. She opened her mouth several times, no words still escaping her. Her mind was panicked, thoughts thrashed. She counted, then counted again, and then had to concede that the King could have been right.

"But how?" she suddenly shrilled, and the smile that had been hiding in the corners of the King's eyes finally curled his soft lips.

"Do I truly need to remind you, my heart? There was a pantry, I was virginal, you were loud..." The King indeed was revelling in this moment. Small wrinkles ran from the corners of his eyes, and one brow crawled up.

"Maiar, of course I remember that! I mean to ask, how do you know?"

"I have a sister that bore two. I can see the signs. And I do know how to count, my heart." The King started chuckling and then quickly leaned in and pecked the tip of her nose.

Wren gasped and grabbed handfuls of her hair. And then she counted again. She had always had an exceptionally reliable internal calendar, but with the commotion of the last few weeks, and her distractedness, and her constant worry regarding her future, she just had not given it much thought.

"What?.. No… I cannot be..." She jumped on her feet, bumping into the King, and eliciting a snort out of him. She hissed, quickly stepped around him, and started pacing the room. Chuckling even louder than before, the King sat down on the chair she had occupied before. He seemed so nonchalant that she dug her heels into the floor in front of him and started flailing her arms. "What signs are you even talking about?! I am a midwife, I am the one to know signs! I would know! And why are you..? What is happening? I cannot… What is..? And what are you even..?"

Wren realised she had not succeeded in finishing a single question, and she froze, taking short shallow breaths in. The King was watching her with some light gleeful amusement in his eyes.

Wren suddenly felt like crying. She might have been with child, and he was taking it so lightly! And they were not wed! And it was a half-Dwarven babe, which no one had ever heard of! And then her mind made a circle in its workings and the same thoughts just kept on whirring! He seemed to care so little! And it was a babe! A babe! And no, of course it could not be!

"I am taking herbs!" Wren cried out, her hands again buried in her curls. "And is it even possible?" She looked down at him, and suddenly angry tears burst out of her eyes. She again hissed at him incoherently and punched his shoulder. The blow was hardly of pretense manner, and the King slightly rocked in the chair. "How can you be so blasé?!" Tears ran more abundantly, and she sobbed.

"I am not blasé, Wren," the King spoke calmly, though she noticed that the laughter was gone from his eyes. "I am letting you cerebrate. I have found in the past it is best to let you arrive to conclusions and decisions yourself. None of the times when I presumed to know what was best for you or try to guide your actions resulted in anything good."

Wren was breathing heavily, her mind working frantically, and she counted again, and then thought back at the herbs she was taking. She had no need in conception preventing herbs, except they gave relief during her monthly pains. If the King was right, they just did not work when it came to the Dwarven unborn.

Wren frowned and heavily walked away from him. She lowered herself on the bed and hid her face behind her hands. She looked back at the past fortnight. Her mood changed; she was maudlin; she was nauseous; she fainted; her magic, which seemed intricately connected with the presence of the King in her life, had been flaring up. The bleeding did not come, and it had never been that late. A fortnight ago they had come together four times in that pantry.

She was, most definitely, with child.

Wren sobbed loudly and desperately and fell on the bed, awkwardly, bumping her elbow into the wall, which made her wail even louder. Weeping shook her body, and she bit into the pillow to muffle the loud sobs.

The bed sank under the King's weight, and his large hand lay at the back of her head. Wren tensed. She did not want his consoling. She was not crying to extort anything out of him. It just felt so overwhelming that more and more tears ran, and she hollered into the firmness of the roll.

"Sh, sh, my heart. Do not tear your heart. You need to take better care of yourself now..."

Wren felt hundreds times worse from his considerate comforting. She turned her face to him. A thought of how horrible she probably looked, with her red eyes and blotched face, ran through her mind, and she cried even more desperately.

"I am… with child… And you are so..." She hiccuped and dropped her face into the roll again. "You do not care… Or you are happy… I cannot tell..." Her voice was rising, into a hysterical shriek. "I cannot even tell what you are thinking… I always know… And I will now get even uglier…"

She could not even summon where the last lament of hers came from. She had always thought expectant mothers were the most beautiful of women, and somehow before it seemed her appearance mattered little to her.

The heavy scorching palm of the King under the Mountain was stroking her hair, and she cried and cried, not able to stop.

And then she jerked her face up and glared at him.

"Are you going to say now that all I said before had just been the parturiency talking? Oh, there will be the tone now!" she wailed. "That tone men adopt with an expectant woman! The pity, the condescending patience… I hate it… I sometimes just wanted to smack the husbands…" He was watching her, as she thought, with that exact patience, and she sneered, "I might behave like a madman right now, but it does not change anything I have said before. You should have asked about Nori, and all your delusions regarding King Bard, and King Thranduil, and Amrod..." Wren's face scrunched in distress. "Maiar, all these Kings in my life… and now another one..." Her hand instinctively went around her waist. "Another royal ass in my life..." She wailed loudly once again and fell face down on the roll.

Wren bawled, the King ran his fingers through her hair. After a few minutes she was starting to calm down. Her mind cleared slightly, and she sniffled. And immediately acute, painful shame flooded her. The memories of how she had just behaved and what she had just said exploded in her mind, and she clenched her jaw, utterly mortified.

"Before you feel abashed of your behaviour, I will tell you not to be. You had every right to react thusly, and I do not think your behaviour mad." The King's voice was even and affectionate, and Wren shifted her head, with difficulty, she felt as if some giant Dwarven hammers were battering into her temples. She peeked at the King with one eye, bleary and painful even in the scarce light in the room. He gave her a small warm smile. "And I am glad you spoke your mind openly. I am afraid I do not always understand the intricacies of your thoughts, my heart. It is much easier when you just shout them out at my face." He softly chuckled and brushed a tear off her cheek with his thumb.

He was looking down at her, and she once again was astounded by some sort of grounded, accepting calmness in his.

"I do not think anything of what we had talked of before is to be disabled by the fact that you are with child. You are emotional and understandably so. You have seen a battle, you are struggling with your new magic, you are to marry and become a Queen. Any of these can trial the will and the mind, and you are burdened with all of them."

"I have another burden now… I had a dream..." Wren rasped, and then suddenly her body flew up from the bed, and she threw herself on his chest. He readily wrapped his arms around her, cradling her head in his palm.

"Wren, can we speak now?" It was an odd question. She felt they had been talking for quite a while now, at least she indeed said a lot and should now try to keep her mouth closed, but she felt the need in his, and she nodded, without releasing him out of the tight embrace. "So, are you... or are you not? I am almost certain, but..." The King's voice wavered in uncertainty, and Wren slightly moved away from him and met his eyes. Tenderness, some sort of insecurity, and so much hope splashed in them that she found it hard to breathe,

"I think… aye… I think I might be..." Wren whispered, feeling suddenly hopefully herself, mostly encouraged by the hopeful elation in his eyes, and he suddenly smiled widely. He then laughed, louder and louder, in pure joy, and pressed her into him.

And then his lips found hers, and instead of a jubilant chaste kiss to celebrate such news Wren's mouth was assaulted by a greedy demanding pair of lips, and then hands were pulling at her clothes, and a growl followed.

"Thorin.. What?.." Wren would have felt irritated by the breathiness and trembling of her own voice, had she not been that shocked by the King's unrestrained attentions. "I have not yet told you… And we are in the infirmary!.." She squeaked, and suddenly the calloused hot skin of the King's hand brushed at her breast. She just could not understand how his hand had found its way under her chemise!

"I have locked the door," the King snarled, and Wren gulped, her head was spinning, and then he covered her mouth with his, and she stopped worrying.

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**Post-chapter A/N: Another chapter for _Me Together With You_? ;)**


	77. Chapter 77

**A/N: **_**Convince Me the Winter Is Over**_** is now available both in paperback and Kindle on Amazon (except the Canadian Amazon that only posted Kindle o_0 Don't ask me how that's logical… )**

**Once again, please find a moment to leave a review on Amazon and Goodreads for the book. It would make one humble author very happy :) Please?**

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**A/N#2: The chapter for **_**Me Together With You**_** corresponding with the events in this chapter is being written as well. I have accidentally picked up too many shifts in my bakery and now fall asleep on the bus home. It'll be finished in a few days.**

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**A/N#3: Don't forget **_**Ani**_** and **_**Blind Carnival**_** on JukePop, if you haven't looked yet. **_**Blind Carnival**_** has gotten its second chapter already. The stories will be updated at least once a week. Hopefully… :)**

**Ani also has its own board on my Pinterest, if you're interested. Not too much there yet but more will come. Cue ginger men :)**

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**A/N#4: And double length today :)**

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"Will there ever be time when we have a whole night for ourselves and an actual bed both of us can lie on?" Wren murmured, her nose buried into the half open collar of the King's tunic. He hummed, his fingers lazily running through her curls, now scattered over her back and his chest.

"I have commissioned a bed for us to be carved, out of a single ancient stump of an oaktree." Wren jerked her head up and looked at him in astoundment. The King smiled to her and brushed his thumb to her cheek tenderly. "It was almost six centuries old when it was finally felled. It was preserved to be made into a throne for me." He moved and placed a light kiss on the tip of her nose. "But then I thought a bed was a much better use for it."

Wren giggled and hid her face into his chest. They lay on her narrow cot, their bodies tightly intertwined. There was hardly any room for the King alone, with his wide build, Wren was now pressed into him as close as it were possible, and still either of them was in constant danger of falling off onto the floor.

"It is morning… And we are again in the place of my service… Can it be any more inappropriate?.." Wren mumbled, her voice as if laced with disbelief, and then contrary to her words she nuzzled his chest, sticking her nose into the untied lacing and burying its tip into his chest hair. This time they had not taken almost any of their clothes. She sighed, lamenting the closeness of the last time.

"Aye..." the King agreed, feigning pensiveness. "And what else was there in your outburst just now? We are not wed… Oh, and do not forget, my heart, that your friend and your suitor are still in the common room." Wren jolted and was intending to rise. She had completely forgotten about Thea and the Gondorian! The King pressed a heavy scorching palm over her head keeping her in place. "To say nothing of the fact that I think you were once again far from quiet..."

He chuckled softly, and Wren searched her mind. She was in bed, in the late hours of morning, with a man who was not her husband, instead of going to her service. They could be caught any moment, the bolt on the door was quite flimsy. She apparently once again failed to rein her loud moans. And she was with child.

Suddenly she started laughing, and then she moved and straddled the King. The brilliant blue eyes widened and the black brows twitched. Wren grinned to him roguishly.

"I am utterly content with where and with whom I am right now. It is much preferable to changing bandages and listening to men complaining of the smallest of aches." She pressed her hands into his chest and leaned down. Her nose was now almost brushing to his. He was watching her with a very pleased expression on his face. "Do you have somewhere else to be, my lord?" she drew out his moniker and licked her lips. A rough hot palm lay at the back of her neck, and he pulled her to his lips. Wren assumed that was his answer.

* * *

They kissed for a few moments, and then Wren pulled away from him and pressed her index finger over his lips.

"Thorin, please... Halt… I have but forgotten, but we need to talk..." The King kissed the tip of her finger, and she jerked the hand back. "Please, do not detract my attention… It is of grave importance."

The King swiftly sat up, his arms wrapped around her, his face close to hers. She ended up on his lap, her knees on the sheets to the sides of his hips.

"What is it, my heart? If it is about your return to Erebor, I have already arranged a wagon for you. Once Nori told me of your faint spell, I went ahead, but the guards and the transport should already be in the inn." Wren frowned.

"Thorin, you seem to have decided everything for me... Have we not agreed that I will return to Erebor when I deem appropriate?.."

"That was before you collapsed in exhaustion, Wren." The King's tone grew slightly colder. Wren drew lungfuls of air, preparing to dispute with him, but then she saw his face waver. "Wren, let us not argue. I have made the decision I thought right, you are after all carrying my child..."

'That does not make me your property!' Wren wanted to cry out, and suddenly a crackle of the golden sparks echoed in the room, magic flaring up under her palms that she had splayed on his chest. It did not burn though, the ribbons slithered and wrapped around the King's neck and shoulders. As if in a caress, Wren thought, and clearly protectively. 'You are supposed to be on my side,' Wren mentally scolded the golden glow, but it continued stroking the Dwarven ears and intertwining into the ebony waves. The King seemed rather unruffled by the occurrence.

"I can see you are displeased with me, my heart," the King's voice was sarcastic, "But on the other hand, your magic is as much as fondling me." He skewed his eyes to the side to see what the golden ribbons were doing, and Wren puffed air in irritation.

"I am not displeased with your coming or the wagon being sent after me to go to Erebor! I object to not being asked!"

"My heart, would you not have agreed had I asked? It is clearly what is to be done. You are with child, we need to wed as soon as possible. You need rest and care..."

"You still need to ask!"

"Very well, I shall." The King's tone was exasperated. He looked in her eyes, clearly demonstrating how ridiculous he found her behaviour. Wren moved slightly away, out of the circle of his arms, and sat on the bed near him. The golden ribbons extended, as if not to lose contact with him. "Will you go back to Erebor with me and marry me as soon as the ceremony can be conducted?" His voice was even and dull, and Wren narrowed her eyes at him.

"No, I shall not."

With slight vindictiveness she watched the King first nod, as he were certain in her agreement, then his body jolted, and his eyes flew up to her face.

"Pardon?"

"I shall not return to Erebor with you right now."

"Wren..." A low menacing growl from the King made her lift her chin and look at him haughtily. "If this is your way to prove you are not submissive to me…"

"It is my way to prove to you that you are not to presume what is to be done without asking me." She held his gaze, stubbornly keeping her face calm, and she saw the King's expression to grow dark. "Instead of just presuming, you were to ask me, Thorin, so we could discuss..."

"There is nothing to discuss here!" he suddenly barked sharply, his voice coarse and unpleasant. She saw his hands fist on the sheets. "I am not risking the health of this child, considering how miraculous it already is, because of your stubbornness. You are going to the Mountain with me right away!" His voice left no room for negotiation.

"I had another vision," Wren was surprised herself by how even her tone was. "In my faint state I saw the birth of two Dwarven children. I am certain it was no dream. I am also certain I am to find them and fulfill yet another task."

The King sat with his lips pressed in distress, his eye roaming her face. She asked herself whether he doubted her truthfulness.

"Wren, perhaps it was just a delirium..." Wren gave out a dry joyless chuckle.

"Are you doubting my magic all of a sudden? How easily you do so out of convenience, my lord!" she added sarcastically. "I assure you I can sense the difference. It was the same magic that allowed me to see you in my dreams. To return you from the dead. The babes are of importance, and I am to find them!"

"Not risking my child you will not!" The King moved swiftly on the bed, and his hand wrapped around her wrist.

"Having your child makes me have these visions!" Wren hissed back at him in rage, trying to free her hand. "Do you not see?! The magic is you, it is connected to you. It saves you, protects you, and now with your child under my heart, I can hardly talk to another man! It is as jealous of me as you are! I have turned into your possession!" The King was glaring at her, his eyes dark and dangerous, and Wren snarled at his through gritted teeth, "Let go of my hand, Thorin."

He released her wrist, and she saw internal struggle in him. The nostrils flared, and the brows were drawn together intensely.

"You are no more of my possession than the water in a river. There is no bridling you," he spoke gravely.

"And yet you are trying," she quipped back, and they both fell silent. She was taking measured breaths trying to calm down, he was staring at the wall behind her. She could see his mind work, calculating and strategizing, and she exhaled sharply.

"Thorin, we should discuss my vision. Admit it, you know it matters." Wren looked at his face, grave and distant, and decided to try one last time. One last attempt to build this association the way she thought was the way love was to be, built on trust and openness. "Please, could we approach it together? We need to listen to each other..." The King tensed his jaw, she could see knots of muscles under the black beard, and she prayed to Maiar she was not wrong in the man.

"What did you see in the vision?" His voice was hollow, but at least he was inquiring.

"The birth of two Dwarven babes. Twins. Their mother did not live."

"Dwarves do not have twin children, Wren..." the King started, but Wren interrupted him.

"I know. That was what the Dwarf named Eli, son of Dar said in my vision. He was a healer. I also saw some elders. And a midwife. Her name was Svanna."

"I do not know of any of these names." The King's eyes were still distant, clearly he was still pondering their controversy.

"I need to speak to someone, perhaps Gandalf the Grey, or Lady Galadriel." Wren spoke. "She was able to give me an answer last time. I expect her to know something this time as well. I need to go to Rivendell."

"You are not traveling across the Misty Mountains, with Winter approaching, in your state, Wren!" The King once again chopped air with his hand. Wren pressed her lips from his, once again, imperious tone.

"I very much am. It is clearly my next quest, and..."

"Do you not want to be my wife?" the King asked, interrupting her, and she choked on her words.

"What sort of question is this, Thorin? Of course, I do." Wren searched his face trying to understand the meaning of his words.

"Wren, I just cannot help but wonder if you have changed your mind." The word 'again' hung in the air between them, unpronounced but clear as day. "I received messages from Nori while you were here. You did not need to stay, there were very few wounded. You as much as wept when you suspected you were carrying my child. And now you want to travel to the Elves instead of hurrying to the Mountain to wed. What am I to think?" All of it was pronounced with his eyes lowered and the jaw set stubbornly, words as much as gritted through teeth.

Wren opened her mouth to answer but stopped herself. She tilted her head and looked him over. Under the anger and obstinacy she suddenly saw the insecurity. Some older words came back to her. How he thought she would not care for him if they had met in other circumstances. How he accepted her rejection calmly and as if having expecting it. How forlorn and almost self-deprecatory he was in his study. Wren's hand flew up in an unconscious gesture, and she clutched the opal pendant, his gift, in her hand.

"Thorin..." She was at loss of words and gently touched his sleeve. He only wore the thin tunic, since his doublet, vest, and brigandine were crumpled on the floor by the bed. He did not lift his eyes, and she saw the brows twitch in hardly contained agitation.

"Thorin, you are my life. All I want in my life is to be your wife and your Queen." She paused, giving him time, but he just sighed, and she continued, "Once I can wrap my mind around it, I will be fully able to express my joy over the possibility of carrying your child, but… But once again I am not given any choice. I wanted to go to the Mountain and marry you, but now there is the new quest."

"Thorin, I need you," she suddenly blurted out, and he finally looked at her. The blue eyes were still cold, mistrustful, but she saw some other emotion glimmer in them. "I need you now, Thorin. I need to discuss it with you, make some prudent decisions, plan the journey…" Her arms went around her middle without her will. "Thorin, please… I do not want to take my child to the dangerous route across the Mountains, but I see no other way out. I need to go… And I need you now. To aid me. To support me. To be with me now."

Their eyes met, and she saw his features soften, and then he opened his arms. She readily moved into his embrace, and pressed her temple to his.

"I need you, ushaktul..." she whispered, returning the moniker for the first time, and she heard his breath hitch.

"And you have me, ushaktul," he answered in a deep emotional voice, and arms went around another, breaths and hearts aligning, the rhythms finally falling into unison.

* * *

Thorin moved first and pressed his lips to Wren's temple.

"You cannot call me thusly, it is only for wives. For you I would be 'khelzar,'" he murmured, and Wren heard a small smile hidden in his voice. She breathed out in relief and decided to take the bait.

"What does it mean?" She moved her head and pressed her lips to his cheekbone.

"The expression has lost its meaning over centuries. It is just an appellation." Laughter was rising in him, and she moved away slightly and cocked one brow. "It means 'supreme man,'" he pronounced, and she gasped loudly and utterly insincerely.

"What? What sort of inequality is this?" He chuckled. Their frolics were still rather subdued, but at least they were smiling to each other.

"It is just a moniker..." He feigned bashfulness, and she theatrically shook her head.

"I am not using it. 'Ushaktul' for you as well, or nothing at all." The King laughed and finally moved to her lips. She waited eagerly, but he never reached his destination.

"I should teach your Khuzdul, my heart," he purred, and she narrowed her eyes in pretense suspicion.

"Why do I sense some hidden motive from you, my lord?"

"Well, it is an ancient language. It has developed all sorts of lingos inside it. There is indeed the bedroom language..." the King trailed away, and then his hot mouth lay on her neck. Wren tilted her head allowing him more access.

"One word, Thorin. I will learn one word, and then we will discuss the journey and what to do next," she spoke firmly, while her hand lay on his chest and she curled the fingers, slightly clawing at him.

"Are you cajoling me, ushaktul? Like a tot, I have to note. One game in exchange for many burdensome chores." He chuckled, and she playfully smacked his chest.

"Tell me you do not like the game." He barked a louder laugh.

"I cannot claim that. Alright then..." He pretended to be lost in his thoughts, and she moved even closer to him on the bed.

"What should we start with, Wren? Limbs? Other parts?.. Organs?" The King alternated between words and little kisses along her jaw. "Uzgar… Zannag… Rarkur garal..."

"Is any of these words safe to pronounce in the company of other Khazad?" Wren asked twisting from under his kiss to place her own on his neck.

"Nay," the King laughed. "I would abstain." Wren hummed and caught his ear lobe between her teeth.

"Teach me to ask for more, Thorin," she whispered into his ear and felt his body jolt under her hands. "That will be my first lesson. Teach me to beg for more..."

The King grabbed the back of her neck, tilted her face and attacked her lips in a searing kiss. Her head swam, and she grasped handfuls of his hair, pulling perhaps painfully. She moaned into the kiss loudly and arched into him.

"'Umal,' Wren..." the King rasped and bit into her bottom lip. "'Umal'… That is the way to ask for greater pleasure..."

"Umal, Thorin," Wren repeated, into his lips. "Umal, my King..."

And he toppled her on the bed.

* * *

"That was a very informative language lesson," Wren asserted, and the King started guffawing. This time their clothes had ended up on the floor, and their bare bodies were now intertwined under the covers of Wren's cot.

"One of the things I cherish in you, ushaktul, is your ability to choose your priorities. I expected you to care more for talking to the Gondorian and your friend, and discussing the matter of your vision, as opposed to approving your verbal skills," the King teased.

Wren yawned widely. After two bouts of carnal pleasure she felt sated and sleepy, and she had slept so poorly in the past fortnight. The King's body was also warm, and her nose was full of the delicious spicy fresh smell of his skin. Her eyes were closing, and she buried her nose in his chest hair, treading her fingers in it.

"We will address my vision when I wake up. And I will have time with Thea. And as for the Gondorian, I could not care less." Wren sniffled cozily. "Now that you and I are in accord, all we need to do is to discuss everything and make up a plan." She yawned again, and he chuckled.

"Perhaps you need sleep now, ushaktul. You now need strength for two." The King sounded very pleased, almost elated to pronounce it, and Wren smiled sleepily into his skin.

"I do need rest… Please, do not chop anyone's head off meanwhile..." The King snortled and kissed her forehead. "And please, stay with me... "

"I will," the King softly promised, and Wren was asleep.

Wren slept and some warm, joyful dreams danced in her mind, peaceful and full of golden glow.

* * *

She awoke well-rested and in perfect state, no nausea or dizziness, only ravenous appetite and a smile on her lips. The King was sitting on the chair in her room, fully dressed, his eyes on the small window of the room. He heard her rustle the covers and turned to her, with a soft loving expression on his face.

"How long have I slept?"

"A pair of hours, no more," the King answered, and Wren nested more comfortably in her covers and the blanket. The King folded his arms on his chest, but the gesture was only comfortable, without defensiveness or stubbornness in it.

"Tell me of your vision, Wren. Please?" he spoke, and Wren started her account.

* * *

**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

my first novel, based on a story written here

**Available on Amazon**

**Kindle &amp; Paper!**

_**Summary:**_

Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom.

John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm.

Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more.

Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?

* * *

**My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

**Twitter: katyakolmakov**

**Instagram: kkolmakov**


	78. Chapter 78

**A/N: Have you checked the second chapter of **_**Ani** _**on my JukePop? :)**

_**Summary**_**: ****Ani, a young healer, witnesses the death of King Einar, a warlord of allied kingdom seafarers, when the war is already over in the Known Lands. When he starts visiting her dreams, she embarks on a quest to help him pass into the afterlife. What will she do when her heart is torn between the man in her dreams and the young lieutenant of the dead King helping her on her journey?**

**Have a look and let's laugh together at the differences in the two stories and the characters :)**

* * *

**Also, I have created a ****Pinterest**** board for it, check it out. The name there is Katya Kolmakov. And just in case, I have four magic words for you… *whispers* Michael Fassbender and Sam Heughan ;)**

* * *

**A/N#2: **_**Blind Carnival**_** is on JukePop too! Wren (Olivia) and John (always John :D) are featured in a story where everything is smut and guffaws, and he thinks he is mediocre in bed, and she writes trashy romance novels :D Come, have a look :)**

* * *

They decided that they were to return to Erebor the same day. Wren believed she was hardly needed in the infirmary. She expressed the desire to spend time with her friend, and the King courteously offered to invite Thea to visit Erebor if such were her wish.

The first steps on the discovery of the meaning behind Wren's vision were to be the following. Upon arrival to the Mountain, Wren was to meet with the Elders. Wren could hardly say she anticipated the encounter but felt with the King present there as well she would feel less apprehension.

Letters were also to be sent to Gandalf the Grey and Lord Elrond to seek their advice. Wren felt that the question of her magic was also to be addressed. She needed to learn to rein it. After a few days of rest in Erebor Wren was also hoping to have an audience with King Thranduil since he had at least some knowledge of the nature of her gift.

"Come, please," Wren said to the King and gently patted the bed near her. She was still bare, wrapped in the covers and the blanket on her cot. She felt comfortable, though her stomach seemed to rumble in rising hunger.

The King gave her a small smile and obeyed. She moved closer, still in the cocoon of the covers, and pressed her forehead into his shoulder. Immediately warmth spread through her body, the magic running in her veins in pleasant invigorating flow. The King placed his scorching palm at the back of her neck, and the thumb rubbed the small curls on the nape.

"What is it, my heart?"

"If indeed there is a babe..." she whispered, and he hummed encouragingly. "Is he… or she… will it become a prince or princess of Erebor?"

"Of course." The King shifted and pressed his lips to the top of her head. "Why do you ask, Wren?"

"We were not wed… when it happened. He or she is illegitimate, and… I am no Khuzd."

"You are to marry me, and to be my Queen." He moved and cupped her face making her meet his eyes. "I am the King, Wren. I make laws in my Mountain." His eyes were laughing, and her lips twitched in a tentative smile. She had been indeed quite worried about the destiny of the child she possibly was carrying under her heart.

"That is quite an uncompromising statement, my lord," Wren murmured, and twisting out of his hand, she leaned in and brushed her lips to his. And then again, and again, and then her arms went around his neck, and she pressed into him, almost not noticing that the sheets slid off her body.

"And apparently autocracy titillates you, my heart," the King purred in response, returning her kisses.

"No, it does not." Wren tilted her head and gently bit into the beard covered jaw. "I abhor tyranny." He cocked a brow at her, and she rolled her eyes in pretense exasperation. "Well, perhaps, a bit… And only when it is for a good cause..." She moved further and caught his earlobe between her lips. The low rumble in his chest that she had been aiming for did not disappoint. He grabbed handful of her hair at the back of her head and pulled gently but insistently, making her drop her head back.

"Confess, ushaktul, you do find my despotism enticing," his voice was trembling slightly in suppressed laughter. Her lips opened slightly, and she inhaled sharply. Even half jesting, he seemed so enthralling to her in his feigned arrogance. He jerked his chin up and was looking at her down his nose.

"Not in the slightest," she answered rebelliously, and one of her hands slid up his thigh. "I am appalled."

"Uh-huh," the King answered in an uncharacteristically colloquial way, and she could not keep down the frolics anymore. She snorted, he followed with a hearty chuckle.

And then they were silent for a few minutes, mouths and hands doing all the talking.

* * *

After finally convincing the King to leave her room, which had required couple dozen kisses, substantial battering of his hands away from her, and vague promises of future pleasures, Wren finally got dressed. She had only one dress, the one she had been wearing since the battle, and she was feeling a change was much overdue. She wistfully thought back at the luxurious baths she had taken in Erebor, and her saddlebags with dresses from the Northmen village. Even the thought of the opulent, excessive dresses given to her in Erebor was not that unattractive. Lady Dis' seamstresses after all knew their craft.

Wren came out of the solar and followed the King to the common room. It was empty, a chair still tumbled over by the table, and Wren looked around in confusion.

"I expected your friend to be here..." the King mumbled. And then heady blush flooded Wren's cheeks.

"Um… Knowing Thea and, as little as I know the Gondorian, considering his character… They might be quite preoccupied," Wren muttered, and the King threw a surprised look at her.

"Surely, you do not imply..."

"That they have been engaged in the same deeds as we have been? Aye, that is exactly what I am implying." Wren suddenly giggled and pressed her hands to her cheeks. "Maiar help me, what the healers must think of us?"

"That is of no importance," the King dismissed Wren's concern with a wave of his hand and pulled her closer. The prominent nose was suddenly right in front of Wren's face, and her eyes dropped on the soft lips peeking from under the neatly trimmed dark whiskers of his moustache. Wren unconsciously licked her lips, remembering how pleasant it felt when her lips and tongue would slip from the coarseness of the hair to the sweet warmth of his mouth.

"If you do not stop looking at me in such way, ushaktul, the Dale healers will bear witness to even more inappropriateness, and this time I might not be able to wait till the pantry," the sensual rumble of the King's velvet voice made Wren shiver, and she shifted her eyes, though with great difficulty.

"Perhaps we should take some meal," Wren suggested, fisting her hands to avoid letting them wander.

"I believe Dwalin with the guards are in the front hall of the infirmary, and I have rooms paid for in an inn. We should dine, and then either head for Erebor, or rest and depart in the morning."

Wren could not find any fault in this plan, and having left a note for Thea, she followed the King to the inn. They shared their supper with Dwalin who seemed joyous to see Wren again, and they spend the evening after the meal in reminiscing of their quest for Arkenstone and laughing carelessly.

When Wren widely yawned in the third time, the King got up and stretched his hand to her.

"Come, Wren, it is clearly time for bed." Her eyebrows jumped up, and she gave him an astounded look. Her eyes cowardly shifted at Dwalin who was calmly smoking in front of fireplace as if his monarch and old battle comrade had not just invited a woman he was not married to in his bed. The King chuckled and shook his head almost unnoticeably. "Come, I will escort you to your rooms."

Wren only realised how tired she was when she tried to rise from her chair and swayed. The King caught her under her elbow, and softly chuckling he led her up the stairs from the small private dining room they had been in. On the stairs she was as much as hanging on him, her eyes just not willing to stay open.

She heavily dropped on the bed, another wide yawn trying to escape her, and she felt the King's large hands on her ankles. He took off her shoes, and she murmured words of gratitude. She was asleep so fast that she did not feel the blanket being lowered on her.

* * *

The next morning Wren was woken up by loud banging into her door. She sat up on her bed and rubbed her eyes hardly understanding where she was.

"Wren, wake up!" Thea's voice rang behind the doors. "I have spent the most glorious night with your Gondorian, but it is not of importance now. Although I have to tell you, you have wasted a wonderful chance!" Wren goaned and dropped back on her bed. "Oh, and your Dwarf is here, and he has some news..."

"Lady Thea, perhaps I could come in..." The King's voice was heard from behind the door as well, and Wren sat up again, feeling rather dizzy from all these jerking movements.

"She might not be dressed, my lord," Thea's voice was laced with laughter. "And not in a good way." A snigger followed, and Wren just could not believe it. The winegirl clearly had not been intimidated by the presence of a royalty. "Women should be given time to make sure that if they are dishevelled and their hair is in disorder that it is of the attractive kind. And not the haystack kind."

Wren rolled off the bed and jerked the door open.

"Thea, what sort of nonsense..." she started, and froze with her mouth half open.

Behind the door she found her friend, in one of her usual alluring velvet dresses, low cut and playful lace lying on her opulent bosom, hair pinned in a perfect do with a few glossy chestnut waves framing her face. By her, there stood the King Under the Mountain, with a large raven sitting on his lifted bent arm. Wren had never seen a bird of such size. Wren emitted a strangled surprised noise, and the bird slightly turned its head and the beady eyes studied the healer.

"Morning, ushaktul," the King spoke softly. "I came bearing news."

* * *

**JukePop: Katya Kolmakov**

**Twitter: katyakolmakov**

**Instagram: kkolmakov**

**My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

* * *

**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

my first novel, based on a story written here

**Available on Amazon**

**Kindle &amp; Paper!**

_**Summary:**_

Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom.

John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm.

Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more.

Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?

* * *

**Please, be so kind as to leave a review for the book**

**on Amazon and Goodreads. **

**Thank you.**


	79. Chapter 79

**A/N: Dwarven traditions/convictions regarding marriage are partially borrowed from Dwarrow Scholar, a wonderful source of everything Dwarven online.**

* * *

Wren stepped aside letting the King and Thea come in. The whole time she could not tear her eyes off the obsidian coloured bird. It seemed to return her studying look.

"Wren, that is Degragh, Dain Ironfoot's raven. He has arrived to Dale this morning bringing most fascinating news." The King moved to the table and let the raven decorously step off his arm. The claws clacked on the wooden surface, and the bird stepped to the half loaf of bread and a piece of cheese Wren had wrapped in cloth and placed in a basket on the table. The raven studied it and then turned to Wren. The healer as much as jumped up from its sudden coarse craw, short and indubitably questioning.

"Oh, of course, do help yourself..." Wren squeaked and rushed to the table to unwrap the food. She might have been mistaken but she thought she saw the bird give her a mannered nod.

While Degragh was pecking the leftovers of Wren's supplies, Thea sat down on the chair, and Wren gestured inviting the King to join her on her cot. They sat down, and the King spoke.

"Dain Ironfoot sends us the news that all of the Dwarven Kingdoms have received in the last moon. A pair of children was born in Ered Mithrin, two moons ago, in a small village at the foot of the Grey Mountains. Their mother sadly had not survived, but the babes lived. Both of them, boys..." Wren looked at the King in astonishment, and he nodded confirming her suspicions.

"What does it mean? What is so special about the babes?" Thea asked impatiently, her large brown eyes darting between the King and the healer.

"Dwarves do not have twin children," Wren explained. "And these ones… I saw them in a vision."

"Oh Valar save us, another vision!" Thea exclaimed, and the King cocked his eyebrow. Wren gave him an apologetic smile. She had shared her story in her letters to Thea, and now the winegirl was suspiciously eyeing the King. "What do the miracle babes have to do with you, Wren?"

"I do not know, but somehow I had seen them, before the news arrived… I need to go to Ered Mithrin!" She looked at the King who frowned slightly.

"That was not our plan, my heart. You are to have rest, and you intended to speak to King Thranduil and wait for an answer from Tharkun..."

"Aye, but the vision came two days ago, and not when the babes were born! It means this is the time when I am to seek them. Thorin, please..." the King caught her hand and pressed it between his hot palms.

"Wren, I am concerned for you. You need to be careful in your state..."

"What state would that be?" Thea interrupted the King, her voice loud and tense. Wren sighed. Thea's eyes dropped on Wren's stomach that the healer had wrapped her arms around protectively. Thea's first thought was, just as it were to be expected, not about the possibility of a miraculous half-Dwarven child. "Maiar help me, Wren, you swore to me the herbs we both are taking work! Tell me you just forgot to take them!"

"I did not… But..."

"But what, Wren?! Do you understand what it means?!" Thea flailed her arms in the air, but then both women were distracted from Thea's anguish by soft chuckling of the King.

"I am no midwife, Lady Thea, but I suggest you simply abstain from marrying a Dwarf if you want your herbs to work."

"Marrying? Who said anything about marrying?" Thea snorted derisively, but then the words reached her understanding. "Oh, and aye, I will keep it in mind." She wiggled her rings adorned fingers in the air as if shaking off her terror. "And you are right, it is all so serious with you, Mountain Dwellers. Marriage or nothing." Thea waved her hand dismissively, but then apparently remembered whom she was speaking too. Her face dropped, and she darted her eyes at the King in unease. "Pardon, my lord, that was rather impertinent of me..." The King chuckled again and louder, and shook his head.

"It is quite alright, Lady Thea. But you are right. Consummation of a marriage even before a wedding is a marriage for a Dwarf."

"What?" Wren and Thea spoke at the same time. Thorin smiled.

"Intimacy of a couple is considered as much as an unbreakable contract of marriage. _A__zlâf_, the period of betrothal that always leads to the wedding unless one of the betrothed dies, can be entered through signing of a contract or through intimacy. Though it is rarely done. But again, Khuzdul blood is hot," the King smirked to Wren, who immediately blushed. "It is frowned upon, but not unheard of."

"So, the two of you are already as much as married then, do I understand it right?" Thea asked and then gestured around Wren's stomach. "Since this happened..."

"We are. In the eyes of the Khazad. There is only a small ceremony and a contract left to sign. But also, since I am a King, and the child is to be my heir, we are to be considered married already. Dwarven women conceive children with difficulty. A child is a wonder and a blessing. Now, no one will argue Wren's right to the throne." Through his explanation the King kept his eyes on Wren's face, clearly speaking to her.

"I have not consented to that," Wren spoke slowly, studying his face in return. She saw the line of lips harden, probably unnoticeably to Thea, and then she saw the King rein his temper and exhale slowly.

"You have not." His voice was low and grave. "I am married to you, but it is your right to accept it or not." Wren watched him, keeping her thoughts to herself for a few instants. The knuckles of his fisted hands were white, but he met her look directly, shoulders tense but squared.

Wren exhaled softly and smiled to him.

"I accept you. But I think we should perform that ceremony and sign the contract as soon as we arrive to Erebor. Among other things I would like to savour the moment of marrying you." A small cough, clearly preceding an indecent joke came from Thea.

"Well, Wren, since that is how Dwarves marry I bet you have very much savoured..."

"Thea!" Wren spoke strictly and turned to her friend. "Remember whom you are speaking of." Thea bit into her bottom lip and threw a look at the King. He was unsuccessfully trying to suppress a smirk.

"Forgive me, my lord. I do tend to forget myself. And I am so overtaxed, it makes me careless in my words. I have hardly had any sleep tonight."

"Thea!" Wren hissed again, and the wine girl emitted a silver laugh.

"Alright, with that aside, when are we going to the Mountain?" Thea rubbed her hands, and Wren groaned. Thea on the loose among brews, delicacies, silks, gems, and even more so, Dwarven males was a disaster waiting to happen.

* * *

While Thea was packing her bags and the King was arranging the wagon and the guards for Wren, she came down into the common room of the inn. One of the Dwarven guards had been sent to find the Gondorian in Thea's inn, and Wren was sitting at the table, with a cup of tea waiting for him.

He approached her, as usual almost inaudibly.

"Lady Wren," his tone was impish, just as was his grin, but Wren noted the respectful moniker. She invited him to sit in front of her. Dwalin, who was sitting at a distance, made an annoyed growl like noise, and the Gondorian shot his eyes towards him. "And good day to you too, Master Dwarf." He then turned to Wren.

"I am not returning to the village, honourable ranger. I am going to Erebor to reside there. I was hoping to speak to you and ask you to express my gratitude to Chief Beorn. I have written a letter to him and his wife, and I will send another one soon, to discuss the termination of my service and some of other personal matters."

The Gondorian listened to her carefully phrased speech, and his eyes were laughing. He accepted two envelopes from her hand, and his fingers brushed at hers. He studied her face for a few instants, and she was already prepared to rise, when he suddenly stretched his hand and covered hers on the table.

"Alfirin..." She jerked her hand away and opened her mouth to rebuke him and remind him it was not her name, but some strange intensity in his eyes made her halter. "Just one thing..." The coffee coloured eyes of the ranger were burning. "I will stay here for a moon or two. If you ever need me, Alfirin, just send a messenger for me. I will come." Wren blinked, shaking off some strange petrification his gaze seemed to provoke.

She straightened up on her chair and pronounced in a cold tone, "I thank you, honourable ranger, but I assure your service will not be required." His face broke into a wide grin, as if it had not been earnest and severe just a moment before.

"Already a Queen, Alfirin..." He shook his head. "Where did the meek healer from the Northmen village go?" he asked, as if not addressing her and just musing.

Wren got up, and he immediately jumped on his feet.

"Farewell, Amrod, son of Mablung," Wren pronounced mannerly, with a small aloof nod, and he bestowed her with a low graceful bow.

"Till we meet again, Wren of Enedwaith."

Wren turned around and marched to the door, feeling the presence of Dwalin following her behind her back. Some strange premonition stirred in her mind. She suppressed the urge to look over her shoulder to see if indeed she had seen some secret knowledge in the eyes of the Gondorian. Something told Wren that the chapter of her life with Amrod, son of Mablung in it, was not yet complete. As much as she tried to avoid it, she understood there was so much more to him and to his role in her life. She had escaped learning of how their destinies were intertwined last time. She was attempting to do it again. And yet his ominous goodbye scraped at her mind.

Once they were outside, Wren looked over her shoulder at the Dwarf walking behind her.

"Is everything alright, Bahinh Khazad?" The voice of the tattooed warrior was considerate and laced with genuine affection. Wren gave him a small sincere smile.

"Now it is, Master Dwarf. I am ready to go to the Mountain."

* * *

**JukePop: Katya Kolmakov**

**Twitter: katyakolmakov**

**Instagram: kkolmakov**

**My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

* * *

**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

my first novel, based on a story written here

**Available on Amazon**

**Kindle &amp; Paper!**

_**Summary:**_

Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom.

John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm.

Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more.

Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?

* * *

**Please, be so kind as to leave a review for the book**

**on Amazon and Goodreads.**

**Thank you.**


	80. Chapter 80

**A/N: Please, have a look at my stories at JukePop site. You can sign up with Facebook or the usual nic/password way. The site seems rather user friendly. You can follow an author and the "Add" button gets you notification for updates for a story. If you find something you like ;) you can vote for a chapter and leave a review with stars as well. **

**There, I have _Blind Carnival_ (story initially started here, with modern AU Wren and John Thorington (modern Thorin); on JukePop only the names of protagonists are different; the characters are the same) and _Ani_ (my independent story, a spin on _Me Without You_ plot, where only the idea of dreams stays while nothing will be the same *Gandalf voice*)**

**The summaries for the stories are underneath this chapter.**

**Loads of love,**

**kkolmakov**

* * *

They arrived to Erebor late in the evening, the stars were already dancing in the sky between clouds that ran in the strong wind. At the Front Gate Wren's wagon stopped, and she pushed the flap of the bonnet open. The King dismounted and stepped ahead, stretching his hand, helping her to climb out. She squeezed his fingers, and then she came to a halt and pulled at his hand.

"Wait..." she whispered, and he stepped in front of her, shielding her from the eyes of the guards at the Gate. Dwalin was helping Thea to climb off her pony. His eyes were on the level with the winegirl's opulent bosom, and if Wren had not been flooded with agitation, she would have laughed at the warrior's attempt to meet Thea's eyes and look imposing at the same time.

"What is it, ushaktul?" the King asked softly, and brushed at her cheek with his thumb.

Wren looked back at the lights of Dale glimmering at a distance. She turned again and met the King's warm, slightly concerned eyes. The light from the torches at the gate was dancing on his features, and she exhaled slowly and then smiled to him.

"Forgive me for the lapse, but I think I require a moment… I am entering Erebor, the Kingdom Under the Mountain… And it is different this time. It is different again." The King's eyes roamed her face, and then he nodded. She stepped closer to him, still hidden from other's eyes, and she wanted to embrace him, but she knew she now could not do it openly.

The closeness of his body helped. She felt the heat radiating from him, her nose caught the spicy smell of his skin, and her hand found his, without rising, discreetly. He intertwined their fingers, his thumb now stroking her wrist.

He stood patiently, and she took a few measured breaths in. She then squared her shoulders and gave him a small nod.

"I am ready."

* * *

They walked through the Front Gate and found Balin standing by the wall in the Entrance Hall, waiting for them, with a group of courtiers. Wren saw several familiar faces, some from the feast, some from the time of preparation for the battle. The Dwarves bestowed her with low respectful bows, and she suppressed emotional discomfort and answered with decorous nod.

"Lady Wren," Balin approached them and Wren gladly looped her arm through his. "What a joy to see you! Unscarthed after the battle and in good health, I hope?" He gave her a warm smile, and she patted his hand lying on her forearm.

"Indeed. I am happy to be back in Erebor, my lord."

They passed into the Inner Halls. Rooms have been prepared both for Thea and Wren, adjoint dining hall connecting them, and Wren quickly wished everyone goodbye and rushed into her chambers. All she could think of was a long, hot bath.

It was indeed prepared for her. The same young maid, Til, met her in the bath chambers, and Wren's feelings regarding being here could not possibly be more different from the time when she had arrived to Erebor for her official visit. The rooms, the view of the gifts arranged on tables in her chambers, the soft carpet on the floor, and the company of the merry maid provided comfort and repose, and Wren sank in the scorching water, flowers and oils floating in it, and closed her eyes in bliss.

"What would you have me do with the dress, my lady?" the girl asked, holding the dirty, worn down Northmen dress in a stretched away hand. Wren opened her eyes and gave the girl a slightly apologetic smile.

"Clean it and mend it, please. It could perhaps serve someone, a child, or it could be sent to Dale… For the poor…" Wren's tone was uncertain, and the maid nodded and left with the dress.

Wren spent an hour soaking and scrubbing her skin, washing her hair, and then she climbed out of the tub and slipped in an exquisite lace nightdress and robe. They were also bespoke, and Wren once again admired the craft of Lady Dis' seamstresses.

Returning to her bedchambers felt like returning home, and then she reminded herself it indeed was. She decided to give herself time till dinner for a small nap, and curled in the large bed that had seemed so imposing and excessive to her just two weeks ago, and now provided the most pleasant of comforts.

* * *

The maid woke her up and helped her in one of the dresses that had been given to Wren upon her arrival to Erebor. It was cut according to Dwarven fashion, with the waist under the bust, but fit Wren's shape perfectly, and the brocade was much less splendid that most court women wore. The colours were subdued, several shades of dark green, complimenting Wren's eyes and hair, with white silk of undersleeves and underskirt peeking from underneath the exquisite velvet. It was also light and, put simply, perfect. Wren looked herself over in the tall mirror in her bedchambers and had to concede she looked better than most of the time.

She also looked very healthy, her usually pale cheeks were rosy, eyes shiny, and she just could not hide the small smile hiding in the corners of her lips. She of course remembered that the question of her magic was still to be addressed, and her vision was her primary concern, and yet she allowed herself a moment to appreciate the changes that had taken place in her life in the last few weeks.

She was to marry, or as much as already had married, the man she loved, and she carried his child. Among Men a child was considered legitimate if born after the wedding, and she now felt reassured regarding the Dwarven understanding of the same matter.

The question of her health and the health of the babe was also on Wren's mind. The gestation period differed for the two races, the child would grow large, while her frame was very small. Even in the best of circumstances Wren predicted difficulties. One of the first thing she was planning to do in Erebor was to see a Dwarven midwife to discuss possible concerns. But for now, Wren took a deep breath in and decided to savour the moment of peace.

Til also helped Wren with her hair. Wren softly refused a Dwarven hairdo, but allowed the girl to braid her copper curls in a much more intricate manner than usual. A few shorter curls were left to frame Wren's face, while several thick braids were arranged around her head. Wren had unruly, voluminous hair, and she expected it to start escaping the do quite soon, but so far she had to admit to look rather elegant.

The dinner was served in a small dining room in the Royal Halls. Thea was not to join them that night, only the closest circle was expected. Wren had pormised to visit her after dinner in the small parlour between their rooms.

* * *

Balin and Dwalin were already in the dining room, and when Wren came into the room, Lady Dis rose from a low settee by the wall. Wren stepped towards her and found herself in tight embrace of the Princess. Wren returned it readily.

"Finally, namad matazniniya, you are back!" Lady Dis pressed Wren into herself.

"I am joyous to be back," Wren rasped, and then carefully extricated herself from the woman's arms. The men proceeded to the table, and Wren caught the King's eyes over Lady Dis' shoulder. He smiled to her, and she felt her heart flutter in her chest. He looked utterly dashing, out of his usual brigandine, in a black velvet doublet with silver brocade. The simple yet perfectly fit attire complimented his physique, and Wren had to once again concede that she was enamoured with him beyond measure. She forced herself to pay attention to the woman who was still holding her in her stretched arms.

"What does this moniker mean?" Wren whispered conspiratorially, and Lady Dis laughed heartily.

"Namad matazniniya? It is a name for a wife of a brother," the Princess answered, and Wren jerked in her hands. Lady Dis rubbed her upper arms in a comforting gesture. "He mentioned he was to ask you again. He did not disclose anything, but seemed hopeful." Wren blushed, and Lady Dis gave her a warm cordial smile. "And judging by how the two of you cannot seem to stop throwing mawkish looks at each other, you have changed your mind." Wren bit in her bottom lip in a slight unease, but then the Princess pulled her into embrace again. "I am so very elated for the two of you, Wren." Wren wrapped her arms around the Princess' middle and squeezed her just as tightly.

"So am I," she whispered to Lady Dis, her voice trembling slightly. "So very elated..." The Princess straightened up, and her eyes searched Wren's face.

"What is it? Is something..?" The Princess asked concerned, seemingly catching something in Wren's tone. Both women then remembered the circumstances, and the Princess quickly muttered, "We shall talk after. We have plenty of time now." Wren nodded, and regaining their composure the women joined the men at the table.

The conversation jumped from the discussion of the battle in Dale, Wren's magic was considerately unmentioned, to some reminiscing, and then the topic of the news from Ered Mithrin was finally mentioned.

"It is indeed unheard of," Balin shook his head. "They were born six moons ago but news spread slowly. Their mother was of Blackbeards, but the father was of Durin's folk. He was on his way home for the time of delivery, when his boat on River Running caught a tricky stream..."

"Who do the babes live with now?" Wren asked, feeling piercing concern for the two infants she saw in her vision.

"They have some kin left in the settlement, but they are a wonder, Lady Wren," Balin explained. "People come to see them now, they are the responsibility of the clan's Elders now."

Wren put aside her fork, having by then consumed two large servings of lamb stew with root vegetables and plums. She had always had a healthy appetite, but the babe was making her simply ravenous.

"I need to see them," she said firmly, and felt the eyes of everyone at the table fall on her. "I need to see the babes."

Wren saw Lady Dis throw a concerned look at the King, but he did not respond in any way, calmly drinking wine from his goblet. Wren decided that the people at the table were her closest kin now, and she exhaled before gathering her courage to start speaking.

"I had a vision about them. I think I am somehow connected to them." Her words hung above the table in the ringing tense silence. The Princess was frozen with her fork midair, her eyes widened, while the Dwarven brothers exchanged confused looks.

Wren looked around the table, and then her eyes found the King's blue ones. She could see reluctance in him, but he did not argue.

"I will escort you," Dwalin spoke up first, his tone completely unaffected, and then he popped another piece of meat in his mouth. Wren gave him a slow grateful nod.

"It is just five days of travel," Balin added thoughtfully.

"It would be slower in a wagon," Dwalin amended.

"A wagon?" Lady Dis cocked one brow in a gesture utterly reminiscent of her brother's. "Why would Wren need a..?" She suddenly froze with her mouth open and then her eyes darted at Wren.

Lady Dis and Balin seemed to have arrived to a conclusion at the same time, and they both started at Wren, all sorts of emotions rushing through their expression. Dwalin looked surprisingly unaffected and continued eating his supper.

"Oh Mahal..." Lady Dis breathed out, and Wren felt like hiding under the table. "Can it be, Wren?" The Princess sounded hopeful and moved, stretching her hand toward Wren on the table, palm up and open, and Wren placed her hand into it.

"How soon can you perform abkân, Balin?" The King asked, his tone calm and light, the goblet still in his hand.

"Mahal help me, would you slow down?" the Princess threw to her brother, while she was still squeezing Wren's fingers, and then her eyes were roaming the burning face of the healer. "You cannot pour all this news on us and expect us to stay unruffled… Wren, how are you faring?" the Princess asked demandingly, and Wren tried to smile reassuringly. The attempt was only half successful.

"I am well… and happy. I am very happy."

Balin clapped his hands in joy, and then everyone started getting up, chairs moving noisily, and they were now exchanging embraces and congratulations, and Wren felt she was passed from one Dwarf to another, and she felt so very content and safe, and then she found herself in the King's arms, and it was the best of places to be.

Balin suddenly loudly sniffled and wiped tears running on his bearded cheeks.

"What a joy! Such a joy..." He once again gently patted Wren's shoulder and she impulsively leaned in and pressed her lips to his cheek.

"Do not forget he is not the only one here," Dwalin grumbled, and everyone laughed. The warrior received a kiss of his own and grinned happily. Wren was once again embraced tightly by one Dwarf after another.

"And answering your question, laddy," Balin wiped his tears with a pristine handkerchief and exhaled sharply. "I can have contract ready as soon as tomorrow morning. We are talking only of the contract and the bare ceremony, aye?"

Thorin threw a look at Wren who nodded.

"But a feast?" Lady Dis exclaimed, "A wedding..?! And…"

"We cannot do it now," the King spoke calmly. "Wren says she needs to see the babes, she thinks it is a new quest, born of the same magic that brought me back. I say we travel North, to that village, take a small company of guards. And upon our return we announce the wedding and do it properly." Wren's hand was in his, and she felt him squeeze it gently. She returned the gesture and look at him sideways.

Wedding interested her little. She had accepted now how important such traditions and their monetary expressions were for the Khazad, but she cared much more about what was now possibly transpiring the next day. The thought of a small but official ceremony that would bind her to him for all eternity made her heart jump in her chest in exuberant anticipation. The King seemed to have noticed her mood, and he turned to her and gave her a warm smile. His glacial blue eyes were bright, and she felt proud, and enticed, and so very much in love.

The next day could not possibly come faster.

* * *

_**Blind Carnival**_

**(JukePop story)**

Olivia Dane (Wren's JukePop alias) is an author of trashy romance novels. She lost her husband seven years ago and seeks no relationship, preferring the company of her imaginary yet dashing protagonists.

When forced to go on a blind date, the last thing Olivia expects is to meet John Dowling, an architect, and a willing guinea pig for her writing research.

Armed with openness and eager curiosity, Olivia and John endeavour to find out if erotic clichés even work, whether relationships tie one down, and who wears the trousers in this couple.

* * *

_**Ani**_

**(JukePop story, Book 1 in _King Einar Series_)**

The war has been raging through the lands to the South of the Great Sea for the last ten years; but it is over, and the ships of the Westerners return to their islands, carrying with them the dead body of their warlord, King Einar. He had fallen in the last battle, protecting Lindrand, the port lying in the heart of the trade of the Known Lands.

Ani, a young healer, witnesses one of the last days of King Einar's agony. When he starts visiting her dreams, she embarks on a quest to help him pass into the afterlife. What will she do when her heart is torn between the man in her dreams and the young lieutenant of the dead King helping her on her journey?

"Ani" is the first book in the King Einar Series, and it is the story of a young woman who has no choice but to find strength and courage to face the world ruled by men and magic.

* * *

**As usual, just a reminder that I have a Pinterest account where you can find visuals for my stories. **

**I mean, who wouldn't want a gif of Michael Fassbender and a gratuitous pic of Sam Heughan in a vest? :D**

* * *

**JukePop: **Katya Kolmakov

**Twitter: **katyakolmakov

**Instagram: **kkolmakov

**My blog: **kolmakov dot ca


	81. Chapter 81

**A/N: Please, check out Chapter 3 in my **_**For Your, My Beloved Reader**_** story. It is a one-shot titled "Golden and Black," and is one of the pieces written based on readers' prompt as the gratitude for pre-ordering my novel. **

**I rarely like my own writing enough to ask for it, but I have really enjoyed writing this one and even doodled some fanart for it. Along with the copy of the story, it can be found on my Deviantart or Instagram (kkolmakov on both).**

**Warning! The story is M rated, for the descriptions of consensual non-violent sex and non-graphic violence. Proceed to your own discretion.**

**Thank you,**

**kkolmakov**

* * *

After the dinner Wren returned to her chambers, sated and sleepy, and spent the last hour before repose sitting crossed-legged on her bed facing Thea, both of them clad in nightgowns and chewing on fruit. They laughed, reminisced, and pondered Wren's future, but obviously, to Thea's righteous indignation, not all of its aspects. As much as Thea insisted on the discussion of the origins of the 'miracle babe,' as the winegirl called the little life growing under Wren's heart, Wren avoided such conversation as much as possible. Thea still managed to swindle some mumbled, blush inducing confessions out of the future Queen of Erebor, at which point Wren called it a day and sent Thea in her chambers.

It was arranged that the next day Thea was to spend in the company of several courtiers to be shown around the Mountain. As the official friend of Wren, she was to be treated with the most courteous respect, and Lady Dis promised that several ladies-in-waiting would take very good care of the winegirl. Wren felt like Thea were quite capable of looking after herself, and should perhaps be watched over as opposed to being fostered, but Wren said nothing.

* * *

In the morning during a joyous breakfast with Lady Dis, all conversations were held around Wren's parturiency. The Dwarven Princess seemed almost manic in her ardent joy. She promised Wren visits to the best midwives there were in the Kingdom, and Wren was almost terrified by all the food the Princess tried to convince her to consume and the amount of pillows pushed behind her back.

Wren did not just pacify the Princess when she said she was in no discomfort, though. Wren indeed felt wonderful. The dizziness and moodiness she had to endure in Dale had been gone. She was ravenous, cheerful, and felt full of strength and vigour. All she wanted was to see the King and preferably marry him in a matter of minutes.

Also, and she felt endlessly embarrassed by it, her state of expecting was making her endlessly libidinous. She craved the King's presence and caresses, and her dreams the night before were heady and indecent. She of course remembered that she were to become the Queen and now she would be constantly observed and judged, and she would of course have to conceal her desires, but when the breakfast was over and in the company of Lady Dis Wren was to go to the King's study for their wedding ceremony, Wren realised she was as much as running down the hall. The Princess chuckled and hasted, catching up with Wren.

In the study, there stood the King, Balin and Dwalin, and Oin and Gloin, whom Wren gleefully greeted. The sons of Groin were cousins to the King and sons of one of the Elders. Wren expressed sincere gratitude for their presence. There was another person in the room, an elderly Dwarf, whom the king introduced to Wren as the Loremaster of Erebor.

The Loremaster was ancient. His hair and beard were snow white, and eyes pale blue. He was past the time when older Dwarves looked like stumps of ancient trees, sturdy and stubborn, and he looked almost thinned out. The skin on his pale face and bony hands was as dry as his parchments.

The Loremaster gave Wren a low bow, his face lacking in any expression. He then proceeded spreading his documents on the King's desk, while Wren walked up to the King. He gave her a small bow, his eyes glued to her face, and she smiled to him shyly.

Balin explained the procedure to Wren. After the contract was sighed, a small ceremony was to be performed. Just a few lines were to be exchanged by the betrothed. Wren threw a cautious look at the King. She knew not Khuzdul and a sudden worry stirred in her that it were to be an aggravation. The King smiled to her softly, having guessed her worry.

"You will say the words in Common Speech, Wren, and one of us will stand for you and translated in Khuzdul."

The Loremaster suddenly lifted his still apathetic face from a large volume of a register he was scribbling in.

"My lady, in the absence of your father, who is to give you away?" his tone was so remarkably disinterested, that Wren froze with her mouth half open. The old Dwarf looked as if he were marrying a King a day, and to a woman of Men for that matter!

"Either of us would be honoured," Balin spoke softly, and all four male Dwarves gave Wren low bows. For an instant she felt agitated, but the decision seemed to come as if on its own.

"Master Dwalin, would you do me the honour?" she turned to the tattooed warrior and asked shyly. His face revealed an almost shock expression, which quickly was replaced with the sunniest pleased grin, which she had not thought was possible to see from him. "We have been comrades in arms..." Wren explained in a small voice. "I would be honoured..." He stepped to her and bent in a bow so low that her eyes fell on the top of his bald head.

"With pleasure, Bahinh Khazad," he mumbled, and Wren stretched her hand to him.

He led her to the table, the King joined them, and a long parchment, rolled seemingly into hundred of rings was presented to Wren.

"Are you familiar with the contract, my lady?" the Loremaster asked, his nose still in the register. Wren threw a laughing look at the King. By the way he was pressing his lips, sparkles of merriment bouncing in his blue irises, Wren understood that he could hardly contain laughter as well. The Loremaster's nonchalance was most amusing.

"I am not, my lord," Wren stated in a feigned serious tone.

"Do feel free to acquaint yourself with it then," the Loremaster mumbled, and Wren could not help but snort. He did not raise his face even after that.

Wren's eyes ran through the contract, while the Dwarves in the room waited in respectful silence. To her pleasure, Wren found out that the contract was mostly purposed to protect the woman's right in a marriage. Unlike in the traditions of Men, the Dwarven woman was given the same rights and responsibilities as men. The wealth of the spouses was to be divided equally, and the responsibility for the children lay on both. The woman clearly was not expected to give up her vocation, and the termination of the contract was stated possible only in two circumstances. One was the death of a spouse. The second one was undoubtful and proved adultery, brought and evidenced in front of the Elders' court.

"Are you signing the contract, my lady?" the Loremaster had finally lifted his face. The question sounded mundane and as if indeed there had been several possible answers to it.

Wren nodded, readily stretched her hand and asked for a quill.

"If so, first the betrothed sign it, then Lord Balin and Master Dwalin will put their hands onto it as named fathers, and then Master Oin and Gloin will witness it," the Loremaster explained in a dull voice handing her a quill.

Wren took the quill and bent down. She heard a soft emotional exhale from Lady Dis and then saw the place for her signature, and her hand froze over the parchment. She suddenly remembered the moment when the Arkenstone was to leave her palm to fall into the fiery abyss, taking away from her the hope for ever again seeing the man she loved. She had missed that instant, she was not to repeat the mistake. She took a deep breath in and watched her fingers move in a habitual action. She then straightened up and met the King's eyes. They were burning and exuberant, and she handed him the quill. His hand as much as flew to the paper, his name written so hurriedly that Wren wondered whether all necessary letters were present, and then he pushed the quill towards Balin.

All signatures in place, the Loremaster once again studied the parchment.

"Quite alright," he muttered and started rolling the parchment in a tight tube. "Do proceed with the ceremony." His tone was almost dismissive, and Wren looked at the King as if asking what was to be next.

Balin stepped forward. Wren noticed tears shining in his eyes. Lady Dis was also wiping her cheeks. Dwalin, Oin and Gloin were standing nearby, their faces emotional, chests heaving, and only the Loremaster was busy organizing his papers with loud rustling. The King stepped to Wren and picked up her hands.

And everything else disappeared, except for his loving eyes and the sensation of his warm familiar palms.

Balin made some loud and ceremonious announcement in Khuzdul, and all Wren could do was to watch the King's face, the significance of the moment reflected on it. She was quite content with it.

Balin turned to the King then who nooded and pronounced some intricate phrase on the Dwarven tongue. His tone was solemn and emotional, and Wren wanted to ask what had been said but decided against it. She would ask later, she promised herself. An then he suddenly gently pulled at her hands, making her step closer.

"_In my Halls you will find a house, in your heart I will find a home,_" he said his voice earnest and low, with a slight rasp in his throat from the emotions she could see splashing in his eyes. Wren's breathing hitched, from the beauty of the words and from the love she could see shining through his every feature.

"And now the bride..." Balin's voice trembled, and he cleared his throat. "Repeat after me, my lady. _In your Halls I will find a house, in my heart you will find a home._"

"_In your Halls I will find a house, in my heart you will find a home," _Wren said readily, squeezing the King's fingers. Nothing ever had felt as easy and right.

"Dwalin, pronounce the words in Khuzdul, to seal the contract," Balin asked, and his brother obeyed. Wren would let herself giggle at the image of the warrior promising his heart to the King later, when this most important moment of her life were to be over.

Balin finished the ceremony, with a few short sentences in Khuzdul and silence rang in the room, except for the screeching of the Loremaster's quill. Wren looked at the King expecting a hint on what was to happen now, when he suddenly jerked her towards him, her body slamming into his, and then he caught her mouth. His right arm went around her waist, firmly and tightly, while the left hand cupped the back of her head. Wren's hands flew up in a slightly panicked flailing motion. The thought of possible inappropriateness of his behaviour died quickly, his lips were greedy and demanding, and so very sweet!

"Well, that is not a part of the official ceremony," the Loremaster's bleak voice reached Wren's fogged mind, and she jolted in the King's arms. "Cannot say it is rare. To think of it, it happens almost every time. But all and all, the ceremony is over. Congradulations."

Wren could hardly hear him, over the roar of the blood in her ears, and then the King tilted his head gaining more dominance over her mouth, and she heard nothing afterwards.

When he finally released her, she realised they were alone in the study.

"Oh Maiar, that was so unbecoming!.."

"We need to speak of our first night..."

Wren and the King spoke at the same time, her voice squeaky, his choked and raspy. She stared at him and then the understanding came, and she realised they were alone in his study, and surely they could have been forgiven for the lack of decour.

So, Wren jumped ahead, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed his decisively and with all the passion and love that burnt in her heart.

* * *

**A/N: Wedding ceremony ideas are partially taken from Dwarrow Scholar site, as usual. **

* * *

**JukePop: Katya Kolmakov**

**Twitter: katyakolmakov**

**Instagram: kkolmakov**

**My blog: kolmakov dot ca**


	82. Chapter 82

**A/N: Both **_**Ani **_**and **_**Blind Carnival**_** on JukePop have been updated! **

**Please, check the summaries for these stories after this chapter. If you are interested, you can sign into Jukepop through Facebook or the usual, nick/password way. **

**The notification system, just like on FF net, isn't perfect, but I tweet and post updates on Facebook.**

* * *

**A/N#2: Feel free to find me on Facebook, Pinterest (as Katya Kolmakov) for visuals for my writing, and on Twitter (katyakolmakov) and on Instagram (kkolmakov) for news and updates.**

* * *

They kissed for a few long, sweet minutes, and then he gently placed his hands on her shoulders and moved her away. She felt breathless, dizzy and endlessly aroused. She blinked purposefully several times, gaining clarity to her vision, attempting to sort out her thrashing and buzzing thoughts.

"Wren, we have matters to discuss..." The King's voice was raspy and indecent, and yet business like. "Now that we are wed, there are things to be arranged..." His eyes fell on her lips again, and clearly to avoid temptation he stepped away from her and as much as hid behind his desk.

On one hand, Wren knew he was right. They were to talk about their journey to Ered Mithrin, and of the wedding, and of her apparent parturiency. On the other hand, she felt irrationally frustrated by his astonishing self-control. They were alone and had just exchanged most passionate of busses, and now he was standing waiting for her to take a chair across his desk from her, while her body seemed to be on fire, hunger for him ravaging her.

Wren sighed, internally blaming her libidinousness on the expecting state, and gathering her thoughts she sat in the offered chair. The King followed her example, and then he picked up a letter opener from the table and twirled it in his fingers.

"A wedding celebration is to take place once our marriage is announced, and it takes more than a moon. There are feasts and other festivities, and… from the start I do not wish it to be betrothal, I want to announce our marriage as consummated."

Wren snorted, and his eyes flew up to her face. His expression was solemn, and she realised she misunderstood him.

"Pardon me, I thought of a different kind of consummation..." Her cheeks burnt with blush, and his eyes lost serious expression and she saw laughter twinkling in them.

"You seem to be rather lascivious today, my heart."

"You seem to be not," she blurted out, and then pressed her palms to her cheeks. "I am sorry, I did not mean..." She squeezed her eyes in acute embarrassment. "I do not know why I said that..."

"Wren, I have just put a solid oaken desk between us so that we do not consummate our marriage on the aforementioned desk, in the way you have assumed initially, so doubt not my ardour." Her eyes flew open, and she stared at him. His eyes were burning, lust and merriment mixed in them, and she exhaled noisily.

"I cannot say I have not imagined it for a moment… Just before you stopped us..." Her cheeks were now as much as on fire.

"That is one of the matters I wanted to discuss. Halls will be prepared for us, once we are formally married and you are coronated, but before it, since the contract has been signed and you are after all carrying my child, I cannot see any flaw in the following idea," the king's voice was strangely uncertain. "If it be your wish, you could join me in my chambers. They are not furnished for a couple, and perhaps they lack in comfort..."

"I would love to!" Wren interrupted him enthusiastically and immediately bit into her bottom lip bashfully. He smiled to her widely, apparently pleased with her eagerness, and she felt overwhelmed by the desire to get up and walk around the table. She clearly imagined sitting across his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck, and...

"My heart, please restrain yourself for another moment," the King interrupted her thoughts, and she jerked in her chair.

"Am I that transparent?" she squeaked, and he chuckled.

"Hopefully, only to me." His eyes' expression was warm and affectionate. "But we still have to discuss the journey, and your vision, and the children…" Wren nodded, her mind immediately sobering up. She could see unease now written in the King's features. "I have received a letter, from the Elders of the village where the babes were born..." The corners of his lips were tense, and he once again twirled the letter opener in an uncharacteristic fidgety gesture. "It had the description of the babes in it, including the colouring..." The King trailed away, and Wren gulped, swallowing the lump in her throat. Apparently the thoughts she had been harbouring since the day she had had her vision were not that impossible to come to the King's mind. "One blonde, one dark haired…"

Wren fisted her hands and took a few careful breaths in. Her heart ached in sympathy.

"I have not shown the letter to Dis," the King continued, his eyes glued to the carved handle of the blade in his hands. "I spoke to Balin, and he agreed with me. The first thing she would think would have been that..." Wren made an agreeing, comforting noise, and he took a deep breath in. "And now that she knows that the babes were in your vision, and considering the manner I have returned from beyond the veil, she would naturally assume..."

The King seemed to be incapable to pronounce what they both thought, and Wren got up, came up to him, stopping near him. He turned in his chair, and then suddenly the long arms went around her middle, he pulled her in and pressed his face into her sternum.

"Do you think it is them?" His voice was hardly audible, and Wren sank her teeth into her lip to suppress a sob. Her eyes stung, and she took a shuddered breath in. There was an almost undetectable sliver of hope in the King's voice, and she had no answer for him. All she could do was to lift her hand and stroke his head. Her fingers trembled, from tenderness, and from the anguish of seeing the King and the warrior so uncertain and almost lost.

They stayed silent for a few instants, and Wren gathered her will and spoke softly.

"Even if the babes are the reincarnation of… your sister-sons..." She felt it would be cruel to pronounce their names. The King's hand, splayed on her lower back, twitched. "They are still just innocent babes. They will grow into different men, in different circumstances, and they will not be the same..."

"I am," he whispered, and she squeezed her eyes. She hated to argue with him, but felt it was the right thing to do.

"My love, your body carries the scars, from Azog's blade as well, I have seen them. Your body was restored and your mind woke up. They were born anew." She bent and wrapped around him. She could feel his body tremble. She felt gratitude that he had decided to share his distress with her, and sympathy and love filled her heart.

"I do not want you to go..." he whispered. "I fear for you… And our child… I am a Dwarf, we protect our unborn like the most precious of treasures…" Some new pain was in his voice, and Wren frowned trying to perceive the hidden meaning. And then the understanding dawned.

"But at the same time, you _do _want me to go. You think of my vision, and it gives you hope that it is them." She assumed by the jolt of the King's body that she had guessed right. "You will go with me. And Dwalin… And guards… And we cannot refuse the magic. My gift… It gave you back to me. I will not ignore its message."

He sat still, and then she felt him nod. She ran her fingers through his hair, comforting and soothing his ache, and he inhaled deeply and moved away from her.

His face was lowered, as if he was avoiding her eyes, and she gently cupped his jaw and made him lift his face.

"We will do it together," she spoke quietly but firmly. "We will travel through Mirkwood, so that I can visit King Thranduil on the way and talk about my magic,. And before we leave I will see a midwife to make sure the journey is safe." She leaned in and brushed her lips to his. He did not return the gesture, but she did not expect him to. "I do not expect any complications though, I feel wonderful. I think I am the healthiest I have ever been." She smiled to him, and saw his features soften.

"I am glad..." he spoke in a low voice, and she carefully moved, nudging him to open his arms and let her sit on his lap. Just as she dreamt, she was immediately warm and cozy, and he encircled her in a ring of his arms. She pressed her forehead to his temple.

"We will get through this together..." she whispered and then pressed her lips his cheekbone in the lightest of kisses.

"I am afraid the journey through goblin infested lands is not our first ordeal, Wren," the King said, and she shifted and looked into his eyes.

"Oh? And what is?"

"First, we have to convince the Elders of Erebor to bestow us with the power over the destiny of the children. Those few settlements of Dwarves left in Ered Mithrin consider themselves autonomous from Erebor or any other Dwarven Kingdom. They are ruled by their own Elders, but would probably submit to my word if it were supported by the Council of Erebor." Wren stared at him, and he suddenly smirked lopsidedly to her. "And something tells me the Elders would be more intimidated by Bahinh Khazad, the Saviour of Erebor, the Golden Lady, than a mere King Under the Mountain."

Wren blinked not understanding his sudden change in mood, and he barked a short laughter and kissed her shortly but firmly.

"Are you implying that the Elders of Erebor are… afraid of me?" Wren's voice was full of disbelief, and he guffawed.

"My heart, you have destroyed the Arkenstone, brought me back to life, and then killed half an enemy army, concluding your exploit with beheading an Orc with golden ribbons of magic." There was pride hiding behind laughter in his voice, and Wren blushed yet again.

"You told me I had been but useless in that battle. It was as much as won by then, and my… exploit was just fireworks and had no true merit." The King chuckled.

"That is not what people say. The most impossible of rumours circulate Erebor. Of ground opening to accept the Arkenstone from your hands, of enemies slain miles and miles around you..." His voice was sing-song, and she just could not gather whether he was teasing her or glorifying her. She gave him a suspicious look, and he guffawed again.

"Just wait till they hear that you have managed even the more extraordinary and bore my child!"

"Well, can I at least not be hymned for that?" Wren cried out. "I have done nothing for that!" The King leaned in and whispered, his lips brushing to her ear making her shiver.

"It is true. I did all the hard work." She jumped up and smacked his shoulder with her hand.

"Thorin!"

He snorted and caught her, his arms around her, his lips on hers. And for a while they were very, very quiet and very, very much preoccupied.

* * *

_**Blind Carnival**_

**(JukePop story)**

Olivia Dane (Wren's JukePop alias) is an author of trashy romance novels. She lost her husband seven years ago and seeks no relationship, preferring the company of her imaginary yet dashing protagonists.

When forced to go on a blind date, the last thing Olivia expects is to meet John Dowling, an architect, and a willing guinea pig for her writing research.

Armed with openness and eager curiosity, Olivia and John endeavour to find out if erotic clichés even work, whether relationships tie one down, and who wears the trousers in this couple.

* * *

_**Ani**_

**(JukePop story, Book 1 in _King Einar Series_)**

The war has been raging through the lands to the South of the Great Sea for the last ten years; but it is over, and the ships of the Westerners return to their islands, carrying with them the dead body of their warlord, King Einar. He had fallen in the last battle, protecting Lindrand, the port lying in the heart of the trade of the Known Lands.

Ani, a young healer, witnesses one of the last days of King Einar's agony. When he starts visiting her dreams, she embarks on a quest to help him pass into the afterlife. What will she do when her heart is torn between the man in her dreams and the young lieutenant of the dead King helping her on her journey?

"Ani" is the first book in the King Einar Series, and it is the story of a young woman who has no choice but to find strength and courage to face the world ruled by men and magic.

* * *

**As usual, just a reminder that I have a Pinterest account where you can find visuals for my stories.**

**I mean, who wouldn't want a gif of Michael Fassbender and a gratuitous pic of Sam Heughan in a vest? :D**

* * *

**JukePop: **Katya Kolmakov

**Twitter: **katyakolmakov

**Instagram: **kkolmakov

**My blog: **kolmakov dot ca


	83. Chapter 83

**A/N: JukePop update schedule:**

**"Ani" (a story inspired by _Me Without You_, with the only common feature of dream sequences of a king appearing in the head of a healer, different characters, different world) = updated each Monday**

**"Blind Carnival" (Wren (a.k.a. Olivia on JukePop) and John (Modern AU Thorin) in a humourous exploration of erotic cliches, a story moved to JukePop from here, no large changes made) = updated every Thursday.**

**Oh wait, it is Thursday today, isn't it? ;)**

**Please, vote and rate if you feel like it :) The name there: Katya Kolmakov (just like on Twitter and Facebook, where I'd be happy to see you all as well :D and kkolmakov on Instagram, since we are talking about it :D)**

* * *

**A/N#2: Once again, a plea to you, my darlings, who have read _Convince Me the Winter Is Over_. Please, leave a review for it on Amazon and on my page on Goodreads. I am in no way milking you for praise, my wonderful readers. The point of reviews is to help other readers to understand whether they might enjoy this story, and whether it is worth their money and their time.**

**Thank you in advance.**

**Love you all more than popcorn! (And believe me, that is a LOT! :D)**

**kkolmakov**

* * *

Eventually Wren extricated herself out of the King's arms, and deeming his previous idea wise, she walked around the table, putting it between them, and sat back on the chair.

"I am to see the midwife tomorrow, after midday meal," Wren spoke. "Lady Dis has found one for me."

"You will have to tell me everything about the visit in the evening," the King's tone was all business, but Wren felt her heart flutter. She was reminded that he had offered her to reside in his chambers at night now, and she felt rather overwhelmed by it. She shortly wondered what his rooms were like. She felt curiosity wake up, and anticipation, and then rather quickly her thoughts strayed to the matter of them now being wed, and this night being their first night.

"Wren..." The King's voice was laced with teasing warning, and she jerked out of her thoughts. She remembered that he apparently could read her well, although she knew that very few could claim to have such talent. She was a closed, reserved person, but again, she seemed to be able to perceive his mood and thoughts better than most.

"When do you think we could start on our journey to Ered Mithrin?" she asked hurriedly, to silence her improper thoughts. "If the midwife deems it safe, of course."

"Two days perhaps." There was an almost undetectable distress in the King's voice, and Wren smiled to him encouragingly. "I will send a raven to the village, announcing our visit. And I will send a courier to Mirkwood, to King Thranduil. You have mentioned wanting to speak to him." Wren nodded confirming.

"I also want to write a letter to Lord Elrond. He himself would not be able to help me perhaps, but he has means to deliver my message to Lady Galadriel. Although I cannot say I appreciated her manner of aiding last time..." Wren could not restrain bitter sarcasm in her voice, and the King's brow cocked.

"What do you mean, Wren?" he asked, and then she suddenly realised how little he knew of her quest.

The thought was like a flash of lightning in her mind. Even if Dwalin and Bofur were open with him about their adventures on the quest, he still was very much ignorant about what she had gone through. On the other hand, Wren pondered, she was not sure she wanted him to know.

"Wren, do tell me," his voice was soft, not demanding, but almost pleading and she lifted her face and met his eyes.

She wanted of course to tell him, she felt openness and honesty were cornerstones of any marriage, but two thoughts halted her. First, she did not want to sound like a martyr, or as if asking for his praise. She had hidden her injuries from him then, because she felt he would endure great mental suffering from his inability to aid her. She still did not know whether he knew the magnitude of the damage her body had sustained on that quest.

She did not want him to feel guilty or responsible. Those were her wounds, but she was happy to carry the scars. They were the price of her success, and she considered the price reasonable. She saw his old wounds, the white jagged scars covering his body. She now had hers, and regretted nothing.

Secondly, Wren would have to disclose her dreams of their son if she were to finally tell the King the whole story of her quest. She was still very much furious with the deceit of the Dwarf named Dain in her dreams. He lied to her, not once but twice, cajoling her into the actions that had the consequences she was still to fully understand. If Wren were to tell the King of the misleading words of Lady Galadriel, she would have to disclose her secret as well.

"Could we speak tonight?" Wren finally decided not to decide anything at the moment. Her voice was small and she gave the King a pleading look. He studied her face for a few moments and then nodded.

They tentatively discussed the preparations for the road, looked at the map, exchanged a few kisses, since they were foolish enough to end up on the same side of his desk, nothing between their bodies, and then Wren left to change for the meal.

* * *

The King, Balin and Dwalin had matters to attend, and Lady Dis was Wren's only company this time.

The Princess was worrying Wren. She was almost frantically animated. She would not stop talking, hardly touching her food. The discussion of Wren's parturiency and the preparations for the arrival of the child, and most preposterous assumptions poured out of Lady Dis' mouth, and she gestured wildly, and just would not stop asking Wren if she felt alright, whether she wanted a mahogany or hazelnut crib, and whether Wren felt nauseous, which would certainly mean it were a girl, and whether Wren wanted more pickled pears.

Wren quickly ate her meal and then another serving, her appetite ravenous, and then she excused herself pretending to feel tired. In actuality, she had never felt better in her life, but the Princess' manic behaviour was making her concerned and uncomfortable.

She returned to her room and sat down to write letters to Gandalf the Grey, Lord Elrond and King Thranduil. She then decided to once again look through the gifts she had received from the Dwarve. Now, she had to reevaluate her previous opinion. Some of the jewels and silks could now be used for her attires.

Several hours later Thea returned from her trip around Erebor, and the two of them spent the most merry evening together, taking their meal in Wren's rooms, discussing the Mountain, Thea of course trying to beguile Wren into sharing more than Wren, under any circumstances, was prepared to talk about.

Wren's maid, Til arrived to help Wren with her evening bath and bedtime preparations and found the two of them laughing and eating dried fruit on the carpet in front of the fireplace.

Promising Thea to see her at breakfast, Wren embraced her friend and wished her good night.

* * *

Wren sat on her bed, pretending to read a book on her lap while watching Til. The girl had just finished helping Wren to put on a nightgown and a robe, after the bath, and was tending to Wren's dress. It was of heavy luscious velvet, with golden brocade on dark blue, and the maid was busy arranging the heavy skirts in the wardrobe, when a knock came to Wren's door. Unlike Til, who looked at it in surprise, Wren had quite a clear understanding who was standing behind the door.

As Wren had earlier discussed with the King in his study, she was to join him in his chambers that night, and just as she predicted, a courtier had come to walk Wren there. Judging by the noises, Til let the courtier into Wren's parlour, and Wren could hear their quiet conversation behind the door. Wren wriggled her fingers and waited for Til to come in with announcement.

"There is a courtier in your parlour, my lady." Til's voice was slightly surprised but mischievous. Wren slowly turned around, dropping the pretense of being busy looking through her window, and she met the Dwarven maiden's laughing eyes. "He claims he is to show you to… your new bedchambers."

Wren felt her cheeks burn. Her first impulse was to rush into an explanation, to clarify that she was indeed now wed to the King Under the Mountain, and until the official celebration of their marriage, postponed for very important reasons, she was to spend nights in his bedroom. And then Wren remembered she was now the Queen.

She took a deep breath in, squared her shoulders and spoke in a calm voice, "Please, inform him that you will accompany me to the Royal Halls tonight and every night after it, until different arrangements are made." Til's eyebrows jumped up. Wren bit her tongue, trying to keep imperious expression on her face.

The maid then nodded and disappeared in the parlour again. After another short conversation, she was back.

"My lady..." she started, but Wren interrupted her.

"Until ordered otherwise, my belongings are to stay here, and I will continue with the previous routine. You will just walk me to the King's chambers before bedtime, and then in the morning you will wait for me outside of them, to come back here and prepare for the day." Wren decisively got up, signalling she was ready to go. "Are we clear?" Her tone might have come out quite harsh, and the girl hastily nodded. Wren lifted her chin, hiding acute embarrassment, and walked by the maid into the parlour.

The courtier was a quite haughty, respectable looking Dwarf. He bent in a low bow before her, and she gave him a decourous nod.

And that was how Wren of Enedwaith walked through the Inner Halls of Erebor the first night after her wedding. She was following a courtier, who was leading her to the rooms of the King Under the Mountain, which she had never seen before, her maid behind her, Wren's hands fisted tightly, nails digging into her palms. She was so mortified by the dubious nature of her current status, of the seeming indecorousness of her behaviour, by not knowing what she were to see in the King's rooms, that she had completely forgotten her previous excitement from the prospect of spending a night in his chambers and the two of them finally, rightfully enjoying each other's company, and not on a crate of dried beggars' buttons, but on a bed. And not just a bed, but his bed, in his bedchamber, where he had lived, where his life was, which he was now letting her in completely.

Their small procession stopped in front of tall heavy wooden doors into the King's chambers, and the courtier knocked thrice loudly. He then opened one of the doors, once again bowing to Wren. Til stayed behind, Wren could not help but throw a quick look at the maid, and then Wren inhaled and walked in. The doors closed behind her, separating her from anything that was not the private world of Thorin Oakenshield.


	84. Chapter 84

**My darlings, thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I am endlessly honoured and grateful for your support! I have all these fe-e-e-e-els today! I'm normally no less affectionate towards my lovely readers, but much more restrained in expressing how much I want to squish and cuddle you all :) Must be the barmy weather we are having here :)**

**Or might be this interview I was asked to give to Minerva Magazine, and I got all fe-e-e-e-e-ely talking about my fanfiction and _Convince Me the Winter Is Over_, and how I owe everything to my readers, and how lovely this community can be! *mawkish sigh***

**Love you all ardently,**

**kkolmakov**

* * *

Wren stood at the doors of a rather large parlour, through the door in the opposite wall she could see the bed chambers. The room in front of her was furnished in the same manner as the ones given to her. The furniture was heavy, oaken desk and a chair in the corner, armchairs in front of an open fireplace, a game table with a chessboard. Wren saw a harp on a stand and several other musical instruments in curios around the room. Opulent tapestries hung on the walls, the biggest one with the Durin line family tree, several portraying some battles. There were book shelves by the walls, a double cabinet perhaps containing brews, several smaller cabinets and tables. The room looked cozy but unlived in. Perhaps, only the harp and a book forgotten in one of the armchairs bore some signs that the chamber was inhabited. Wren assumed the King spent little time in this room. He had his study that she had visited before, which was full of books and maps and letters and was obviously used a lot. This room was clearly decorated for the King but without his participation. Wren also saw several crates, open, straw and paper sticking out of them. Wren wondered if they contained the King's belongings from Ered Luin, from his previous life, brought over but still unpacked.

Wren's eyes drank the room greedily, in the course of a few seconds, and then she finally met the eyes of the room's inhabitant. He stood by the fire, his hands locked behind his back. Some merry amusement was hiding in his features, and Wren blushed.

"Is my room to your liking, my Queen?" Wren jerked from the appellation and gaped at him. She gathered her thoughts, shifting between her feet, and then exhaled through rounded lips.

"Could we withhold the moniker for now, my King? It makes me rather overwhelmed."

The King chuckled and walked up to her. She watched his wide confident stride, her heart fluttering. He gently put his hands on her upper arms and pulled her closer.

"Then 'my King' moniker will have to go too, Wren." His voice was low and velvet, and she bit into her bottom lip, feeling slightly bashful and titillated at the same time.

"Very well… Thorin. And aye, the room is to my liking. It is rather bare though."

"I hardly come here," he murmured, slowly leaning to her lips. "I usually go straight to the bed chambers..." His voice dropped, turning into a low rumble in his chest, and Wren drew a sharp breath.

He pulled her even closer, her body now almost touching his, and her hands flew up and lay on his chest. He was dressed only in a thin white tunic, unlaced on his throat, which she assumed was to serve him as his night clothing, linen trousers that reminded her of the ones he had worn in her dreams, and a very simple doublet. Unlike the attires she had seen him in before, heavy and complicated, with embroidery and many layers, this one was just a plain black linen jacket, fastened on his chest with three clasps, without any engravings or other decorations. To think of it, Wren had never seen him, or any other man for that matter, in home surroundings, preparing for bed, and she felt curiosity rising. She stroked the soft fabric on his chest. Her nose caught the smell of juniper soap, and pipeweed, and fresh fragrance of starched linen.

"Is that what men wear in inner rooms?" she asked, and a soft chuckle vibrated under her hands.

"Do you not know, my heart?" Wren's fingers as if by accident brushed at the top clasp.

"I have never been married before," she answered and threw him a look from under her lashes.

"Neither have I," he answered, mimicking her tone, nonchalant and slightly flirtatious. His thumbs rubbed her shoulders, and even through the nightgown and the chemise under it she felt the heat of his hands. "I am no less inquisitive of domestic habits of women." Wren blushed even more furiously. "Although not all women, just one of them, to be honest," the King added, and she could not help it anymore. She leaned in and caught his mouth in a kiss. Her gesture was still rather restrained, she felt nervous and timid.

She would have found it surprising, considering their previous association, but at the moment she did not feel like observing her sensations. After a second of surprise the King rushed into the caress, his hands slid onto her back, on the shoulder blades, and she gasped into the kiss. They had come together in the infirmary, several times, fully baring their bodies in front of each other, but somehow it felt different now, and even this demure caress felt exciting and arousing to her.

He shifted, his lips slid on her jaw, then her throat, and she breathed out, "It is so different..."

He straightened up, brushing his nose to her cheek in a tender playful gesture, and then he looked into her eyes.

"Different how?" he asked, his voice sensual and teasing, and then he picked up her right hand and pressed his lips to the center of her palm. She gasped again, from surprisingly lewd sensation this buss flooded her body with. Her lashes fluttered, eyes closing, from the heat spreading through her body, and some strange tension born in her venter. And then she realised no further caress followed. She opened her eyes and saw him studying her hand.

A long white scar ran across her palm, from the deep cut she received in the Misty Mountains when crossing them for the first time. The hand had been cut on a sharp rock, after she tumbled over an edge of a steep peak, still on the back of her pony, and then Wren had walked with it slowly bleeding for a few hours, sinking her nails into it to wake herself from the lethargy that would envelope and put her to eternal sleep had she not fought it.

The King ran the tip of his finger along the white line.

"You promised to tell me of your journey, ushaktul," the King's words were soft, and yet lacking in ardour now, and then he lifted her hand to his lips, this time placing a kiss on the inside of her wrist.

Wren was now facing a choice. She could disclose everything, including the dreams of their son she had had, or she could tell the King just enough to mollify his inquiring mind. He lifted his eyes and frowned.

"Wren, I urge you…" he started but then his face wavered. "Nay, I _plead_ you to speak openly with me."

Had he chosen other words, or demanded answers, had he pushed or tried to order her around, she would have reneged. Just an instant before his plea, she was certain she would emit most of the details. But his eyes were earnest, vulnerable, and she sighed, took his hand and led him to the armchair in front of the fireplace. She sat in hers, folded her hands on her knees, and lowered her eyes. Speaking came surprisingly easy, especially if she avoided meeting his eyes.

And Wren told her husband everything.

* * *

In the middle of her account she rose, waved her hand to stop him from rising after her, and walked to a small table with a jug of water and a few goblets. She poured herself water, and she talked, and sipped, and did not notice how she started pacing the room. The King sat in his chair, immobile, his face unreadable, his right hand fisted in front of his mouth, his elbow on the armrest, and suddenly Wren found herself at the other end of the room, her fingers absentmindedly rustling with the corner of paper sticking out of one of the crates.

She was done. Her story was done. She had just said 'And then I woke up in the infirmary and you were sitting on the chair near my bed.' She looked into her goblet and found it empty.

Silence rang in the room, and Wren did not dare looking at the King.

"How will I ever repay this debt to you?"

Wren turned around sharply, her eyes widening from the hollow, grim voice of the King.

"What?" she asked weakly. "Thorin, no… That is why I never wanted to tell you. There is no debt!.."

"You bled for me!" he interrupted her. "You said so yourself in the infirmary, before you confessed your love to me. I remember… But I did not know all then." His voice was growing more and more pained, and she rushed to him and knelt in front of him. She saw clenched jaws, paled face, and she grabbed his hands and squeezed his fingers.

"Thorin, no… I do not see it this way at all..."

"I do!" His answer was loud and harsh. "I have seen your scars, Wren! I just did not think I am the reason for them! You move your right shoulder awkwardly, and this..." He flipped her right hand, palm up. "You can not wield the surgery blade anymore, can you?" Wren shifted her eyes, avoiding his burning stare. "I saw you move the fork at dinner into your left hand. Does it hurt?" His tone was forceful.

"No," she whispered. "It just goes numb sometimes..."

"So, I made you limp; you had to give up what you cherished most, your service; and something tells me those cuts on your thighs did not heal well. Do your joints also hurt during rainy weather?" Rage bubbled in his voice, but she knew it was not her he was furious at.

"You did not do any of that. The quest did," she spoke quietly but firmly, and he jerked his hands out of hers.

"A quest to save me! Do not try to elevate my blame!"

"There is none!" Her voice rose as well, in response to his bark, and she met his eyes directly. "I chose to help you. It was my decision. It was my quest. And I would not change an instant of it if I had a choice. Do you hear me? Not an instant!"

She could see by the stubborn line of lips and heavy glare that she had not changed his mind even a little, and she sighed, got up and turned away from him, gathering her thoughts, her eyes on the fire dancing on the logs in the fireplace in front of her.

"There is something you do not understand, Thorin..."

* * *

**It's not stalking if I encouraged you :) **

Find me, if you like, on

**#JukePop: **Katya Kolmakov

**_Blind Carnival_** (Wren a.k.a. Olivia + Thorin a.k.a. John in a humourous take on an erotic novel)

{updated every Thursday}

_**Ani** _(a spin on _Me Without You_ plot with a love triangle and ginger pseudo-Vikings added to the mix)

{updated every Monday}

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* * *

**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

my first novel, based on a story written here

**Available on Amazon**

**Kindle &amp; Paper!**

_**Summary:**_

Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom.

John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm.

Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more.

Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?

* * *

**Please, be so kind as to leave a review for the book**

**on Amazon and Goodreads.**

**Thank you.**


	85. Chapter 85

**A/N: Have you checked _Ani_ and _Blind Carnival_ on my JukePop? They are updated every Monday and Thursday correspondingly.**

**A/N#2: There will be a chapter of **_**Me Together With You**_ **corresponding with this one. I remember that I owe you two little smut episodes from the infirmary, and now this one. I'm just so jittery with my book launch/reading/signing Tuesday evening that I can't write smut. But knowing me, you can trust me to deliver soon :)**

* * *

"Thorin..." She turned around and met his eyes calmly. "By feeling guilty for what I went through, you take it away from me. It was my quest. It was my journey. I made these choices, and I stand for each and every one of them. I did not do it it for you..." Her previously firm voice wavered, and she gave him a small bashful smile. "Well, not at the beginning at least. Then I fell in love with you." His features had not softened, and she sighed. "I did what I thought was right. Would you not have done the same?" He kept silent, and she repeated, "Would you not have done the same?"

"It would be different."

"It would not, my love." She stepped closer to him and stood in front of him. "I truly believe that if you were asked to help a person who was treated unjust and whose destiny solely depended on you, you would not hesitate and try to do everything you could to aid them." He was frowning, and she saw his right hand fisted tightly on his lap. "You needed my help, and I chose to give it to you. I did it for myself." He looked at her finally, slightly confused, and she gave him another soft smile. "I wanted to be that kind of person, who would not step aside and let another person suffer undeservingly. I could have taken that drink King Thranduil offered me and have no dreams with you anymore, but how would I have lived with myself then?"

"Cursed Elves..." the King mumbled, and Wren suddenly snorted. The whole conversation felt grave and emotional, but she suddenly remembered the first thing she told him when she finally believed he was indeed alive and in her bedroom in flesh. 'I hate Elves,' she said then.

"I believe he thought he was offering what I needed then. I did not feel malice in him."

"Did you feel it in the White Witch?" the King growled. "She lied to you. They all tried to convince you you were helping me across the veil. I swear to Mahal, no one will convince me they did not know the truth."

"Lady Galadriel never lied to me explicitly," Wren spoke thoughtfully.

There was one thing she had not disclosed to the King, and those were her dreams about their son, Dain. It was not of apprehension or fear, but because she herself was still confused by what she felt and thought of the matter. Was she carrying him under her heart now? Or would he have been born had her destiny been different? Did it mean that she would never have a son to grow into the man she had seen? She did not know. She felt she needed more time to ponder it.

Also, she felt strange certainty that Dain's birth and fate and her magic were intertwined. She needed to rein the magic, to come one with it, and she was sure the clarity would come.

Wren took another step closer to the King. He sat in the armchair, fingers of one hand drumming on the armrest, another hand still clenched in a fist on his knee. Wren longed to touch him, and perhaps now, when they were alone in his rooms, to slide on his lap and into the ring of his arms, but she knew they needed to finish this conversation.

"Thorin..." she called softly, and he paused and then, with a sigh, he lifted his eyes at her.

"I cannot just forget the damage you took upon yourself for me, ushaktul. The times and times you could have… failed..." She knew he wanted to say it differently, but she understood. She hated him speaking of his demise then, in her dreams, just like now he could not bring himself speak of hers, even the one that was never to come.

"But I did not. And that is another thing you take away from me if you look at my quest as some sort of a grim debt you have to repay. I did not fail, Thorin!" Her voice grew stronger. "I have succeeded, and I feel rather arrogant about it. Do not negate my right for some self-assurance."

"But at what price?!" His tone was bitter. "The price you paid for saving me..."

"Oh it is immense, is it not?" Wren gasped in feigned terror. "Look at my life now! What can be more horrid than that?! I am to marry the man I love, to become a Queen of the most prosperous Kingdom in Arda, and Maiar help me, I am carrying his child conceived in passion and love!" She widened her eyes and pressed her hands to the cheeks dramatically. "If I knew that would come at the end of this journey, I would have stayed at my service! Changing bed pans and examining suspicious bumps!"

The King valiantly tried to suppress a smile, but the corners of his lips twitched betraying how pleased he was with her words. She giggled. But then one thick black brow jumped up.

"You did choose your service over me once. In the Northmen village."

"You do enjoy living in the past, my lord, do you not?" Wren tut-tutted and stepped a bit closer. "I thought I was choosing what was best for us both then. Because I did not think either of us would be content in this union. And I thought you did not love me truly." She was just a few inches away from him now. "But now I am starting to think you might..."

"What betrayed this secret?" the King asked sardonically, and then he lunged ahead, grabbed her around her waist and pulled her on his lap. Wren could not claim she fought. He arranged her, his arms wrapping around her just as she hoped and she settled in his warmth, unnecessarily squirming on her backside. The King rumbled in his chest and quickly pecked her lips. It was not yet a passionate buss, but Wren was happy to feel tension slowly leaving his body.

Their eyes were close, and she leaned in and rubbed the tip of her nose to his. He squinted his eyes and she gazed mawkishly on the small wrinkles in the corners of the eyes, fluffy thick lashes, and then she herself did not notice how her hands started stroking the thick black beard. How did it happen that she was in the arms of such an alluring man? And married to him no less!

"I am married to you!" she blurted out, and he guffawed.

"You very much are, my heart." His tone was teasing.

"I think I have only just realised it fully," she mumbled apologetically, and then King halted for an instant and then a small smirk grew on his lips.

"It is because our marriage has not been yet validated to completion." She gave him a side glance, trying to determine whether he indeed meant what she thought he meant. And she had to concede that indeed the King Under the Mountain had just sprouted an innuendo.

Wren feigned indignation.

"If memory serves me right, according to the Loremaster even a kiss was not required for marriage to be valid. To say nothing of..." She vaguely waved her hand in the air, which the King followed with his eyes his lips twitching, and his shoulders shaking in suppressed laughter. "Oh what am I to do with you?.." she huffed out, and he cupped the back of her head and pulled her face impossibly close to his.

"You are to love me," he spoke in a low, emotional voice, and she drew a sharp breath in from a sincere plea in his eyes. "You are to be my wife. To give me sons and daughters."

Wren wrapped her arms around his neck, tightly, with all her love and devotion to him pouring strength into her limbs.

"Yes, Thorin, yes!"

She kissed him first, hungrily, but without sensuality or lewdness, as if sealing an oath, confirming the unity of not just bodies but hearts and souls, and he returned the caress, the same ardent love in his gestures.

They embraced then, just holding each other in their arms, and Wren blinked several times, purposefully, trying to chase tears from her eyes. She had nothing to cry about. It was perhaps just nerves and the parturiency, but when she moved away, she saw the King's eyes glimmer with unshed moist as well.

"Now I truly feel married to you," she whispered, and he smiled to her warmly. She cleared her throat, shaking off the sentimental vehemence. "And perhaps we should indeed bring this ceremony to completion."

He guffawed and suddenly got up sharply, still holding her in his arms. Her feet dangled in the air and one of her leather slippers slid off and fell on the floor with a soft thump.

"We will pick it up tomorrow," the King dismissed, and Wren laughed gleefully.

The King walked into his bedchamber, and Wren immediately started twisting her head trying to see.

"Are you more interested in the room or its inhabitant?" the King asked jokingly, and Wren pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

"I am here for the inhabitant, but I am endlessly curious what the private rooms of the King Under the Mountain are like."

"And?" the King asked walking to the bed and carefully placing her on it. Wren threw another examining glance around.

The room was... dull, only the bare necessities in it. A few crates again were crowded in the corner. Altogether, the room looked like a tent of a warrior, a temporary shelter. The bed was wide, sheets clean, probably freshly changed, but pillows were scarce and a few covers and quilts neatly folded and placed on a chair near it had clearly been unused. The chamber was, put simply, impersonal.

"I am afraid I have learnt very little about the inhabitant from this room," Wren sounded sincerely disappointed although she tried to jest, and the King chuckled and sat on the bed near her.

"When we have shared rooms, you can fill them with anything you want." Wren cupped his face and stroked his bearded jaw with her thumbs.

"What do you want to see in our rooms, Thorin?"

"You," he answered simply and smiled to her softly. She returned the smile.

"Then you can consider your wish granted," she whispered, and they moved into the kiss in concord. The lips met, the hearts beat in unison, and then he finally grasped her, like they both had desired for so long, and she returned the embrace no less fervently, and they toppled into the sheets, and all was well in the world.

* * *

**It's not stalking if I encouraged you :)**

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**_Blind Carnival_** (Wren a.k.a. Olivia + Thorin a.k.a. John in a humourous take on an erotic novel)

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**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

my first novel, based on a story written here

**Available on Amazon**

**Kindle &amp; Paper!**

_**Summary:**_

Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom.

John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm.

Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more.

Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?

* * *

**Please, be so kind as to leave a review for the book**

**on Amazon and Goodreads.**

**Thank you.**


	86. Chapter 86

**NEWS! NEWS! NEWS!**

**Dr. T series (**_**Touch the Nerve, Strike the Cord, Cut Through the Heart, and Heal All Wounds**_**) will be soon moved from FFnet to my blog: ****kolmakov dot ca****. Fanart and my personal edits for this story will go there as well. I will try to move all the four stories asap, so that I can start posting new chapters soon.**

**Please, if you liked Dr. John Thorington, the genius neurosurgeon, and Wrennie Leary, a biochem student in a pickle, have a look and please, leave a comment!**

* * *

**A/N#2: Next week is the last week of August, so tomorrow's chapter of **_**Ani **_**and Thursday's **_**Blind Carnival **_**on ****JukePop**** will really appreciate your votes ;)**

* * *

**A/N#3: Feel free to follow me on Twitter (katyakolmakov), Instagram (kkolmakov) and Facebook to get updates and news from me.**

**Love you all ardently!**

**With willing heart,**

**kkolmakov **

* * *

Wren woke up disoriented, and she stared at the ceiling in the dim light. She could not understand why she was not in the Northmen village, nor even in her rooms in Erebor, and then the reason of her current position let itself be known. It came in a warm soft sound of a large male cozily sniffling in his sleep. Wren slowly turned her head and gaped at the King Under the Mountain, Thorin, son of Thrain, bare, and spread on the bed. He lay on his stomach, covers tangled around his hips, his left shoulder and a long arm covered in thick black hair below the elbow hanging off the edge of the bed. The second hand, as Wren quickly noticed, was tightly clasped around several thick strands of Wren's curls. His face was pressed into a pillow, nose funnily squished to the side, and he was frowning, which only made the spectacle more entertaining. He did not look troubled or displeased, just grumpy, and Wren giggled.

She looked over the muscular shoulder, followed the tendons with her eyes, up the neck, to the large Dwarven ear, an earcuff on it, and then she moved a bit closer, tucking a fist under her cheek to ogle the King to full satisfaction.

The night before she had finally felt she had touched and tasted everything, without haste, without worry to be caught, and with the full understanding that she now had the only right. And from now on, Wren thought, that was her place. To be his and to possess him, to share the world with him, and to expect no less in return. She was his wife.

The long nose twitched, shaking Wren out of pathos filled, mawkish thoughts, and she stretched her hand and stroked the King's tender bottom lip with her thumb. Last night these very lips had performed the most salacious acts, and she slightly blushed thinking back at them. She had been no less enthused by finally having a whole night and a bed. She had been worried, to confess it now, before the night. She had been worried their passion would be less ardent and the thrill to be gone once they were given all the time in the world and no threat of being caught was to loom over them. Her worries had been nullified. They had been greedy for each other, but loving and tender, and the night had brought both of them the sea of pleasure. Wren thought back on the King's low voice murmuring the most sensual things into her ear and 'yusthasuth' repeated again and again, like a raspy prayer falling off his lips.

"It is not yet morning..." the King suddenly mumbled, and the hand abandoned her curls and snaked around her waist. One sharp jerk, and she was pressed into his scorching bare body. The covers shifted, and Wren blushed headily. "We can stay here..."

The King was clearly still asleep, but then he proceeded nuzzling her, making some rumbly noises, suspiciously reminiscent of purring of some large wild animal.

"What are these flowers?" he murmured into her neck, and she took a shuddered breath in. Perhaps, the King was more aware and awake than she thought.

"What flowers?"

"These… On your skin..." His lips repeated the path of the long nose, on her throat, and she dropped her head back, at the same time arching into him, her leg going around his as if without her will.

"Lilacs… They are bushes..." Wren's breathing hitched. "They grow by the roads..."

"So sweet…"

It was now clear where the King's mood was taking him, and Wren decided she quite agreed with such plan. She rolled over him, straddling him, and the blue eyes flew open. His hands stroked her upper arms, in a tender, surprisingly chaste gesture, affection splashing in his eyes, but then the palms slid lowed, onto her hips, and she sighed.

"Thorin..." His name came out with an exhale, in a moan of pleasure.

"Yusthasuth..." he answered, and then no more words were said.

* * *

Wren lay on the King's chest, his arms in a circle around her, her bodies cooling down after the third bout of passion.

"What is 'yusthasuth,' Thorin?" she asked lazily, some pleasant comfortable thoughts crawling in her mind, her body tired and sated. The King kept quiet for a few instants, and Wren slightly shifted and placed a kiss on his shoulder. "Thorin?"

"Did I say it?" the King's tone was comically surprised.

"Aye. More so, you sort of chanted it." She giggled. "I truly need to start learning Khuzdul. Even just for such moments as this one..." she sing-songed, her body shaking with laughter, and he huffed air out in a feigned exasperation. "So what does it mean?"

"You are clearly in a mood to mock me, my heart. Why would I confess?"

"Is it something embarrassing?" Wren slightly rose, leaning onto her elbow, and gave him a wide grin. His face was relaxed, not a trace of the previous grumpiness, and she had to concede, the King was ogling her as well.

"It means, 'tiny wife,'" the King finally muttered, and Wren gave him a surprised look. He looked rather uneasy, and she giggled again. "It sounds very… intimate," the King explained bashfully. "Please, never mention it to anyone."

"Whom in Maiar's name would I tell of it?" Wren laughed. The King chuckled as well, his fingers running through her hair.

They lay in bed for a few more minutes, exchanging satiated kisses, and tender words, and then Wren slipped from under the covers. She knew her maid was waiting for her and Thea was to have breakfast with Wren, after which she was to visit the midwife Lady Dis had found for her.

Feeling suddenly abashed, Wren quickly pulled her nightgown over her body, and while she was tying the robe's belt around her waist she noticed the King studying her middle very attentively. There was no salacious hunger in his eyes, just curiosity. He was leaning on one elbow, and she tilted her head.

"What is it?" she asked quietly, feeling worried. She could hardly imagine he had missed something in her appearance, he had been very thorough in his examination the night before, but his sudden focused interest unsettled her. She wondered whether something in her appearance was after all not to his liking.

"When will it become clear?.." the King lifted his arm and waved his hand level to Wren's stomach. "The babe..." His tone was wistful, and she could not suppress a wide happy grin.

Wren quickly sat on the bed near him, and he wrapped the free arm around her middle, pulling her in and nuzzling her ribs.

"I do not know. That is what I want to ask the midwife. But I hardly expect my parturiency to follow the Dwarven way… And I am also small, so I might not show for the longest, perhaps till the very end..."

One blue eye peeked at her.

"Not even a bit?" This time, the tone was clearly disappointed, and Wren gave out a short laugh.

"If it pleases you, I can wear dressed with a lot of ruffles here..." She gestured around her flat stomach. "Or even put some cotton in. But I expect you will be the only one to see the roundness, at least for most of the term." She leaned in and quickly kissed the tip of his nose. "Since you are the only person to see me bare."

"That will be enough," the King conceded, but Wren suspected he would prefer to parade her expectant state before all Erebor. Wren was now feeling very curious regarding the parturiency customs and traditions of the Khazad. She could not wait to speak to the midwife, although she was also feeling a bit apprehensive.

She was also starved, and after a few more moments of caresses, she untangled from the King's arms, promising to see him at the midday meal to share the news from the midwife, and then she quickly walked out of his rooms.

Til was waiting for her in the passage, leaning on a door frame and lazily studying a tapestry on the opposite wall. After a bath and changing, Wren joined Thea for breakfast. She ate listening to the winegirl's endless exuberant chatter about the curiosities of Erebor that had been shown to Thea, and then it was time to see the midwife.

* * *

Vagna, daughter of Vir was a stately Dwarven dame, square shouldered and stern. Her manners were strictly professional and Wren exhaled with relief. She welcomed the lack of curiosity or any sort of inappropriate questions. The midwife examined Wren, asked all the common questions, and even the mentioning of Wren's child's parenthood did not seem to affect the Dwarven woman. She just nodded and scribbled something in her large leather bound book. Wren discreetly watched the white haired midwife, whose face was calm and almost disinterested, as if Wren had not just informed her that the father of her child was a Dwarf and none other but the King Under the Mountain.

Since it was so early into Wren's parturiency, it was impossible to make any predictions, and Wren and Vagna agreed on meeting the next moon.

Vagna informed Wren that Dwarven women rarely had failures to carry the child and were not advised against travelling, especially if a comfortable wagon was provided to them. And since Wren also had no unpleasant symptoms, the midwife deemed it safe for Wren to travel to Ered Mithrin.

Wren shared her midday meal with the King in his study, where giggling she told him of how nonchalant the midwife seemed about Wren's circumstances, and the King laughed boomingly at Wren's drollery. She mimicked the midwife's mellow tone and her 'uh-huh' answers to Wren informing her that she was carrying a half Dwarven babe and had married the King of the Khazad the day before.

Quite quickly the meal turned into embraces and kisses, and eventually Wren ate all her food out of the King's hands, which suit her quite well.

Once the fare was gone, and a large part of it due to Wren's efforts, the King sighed and Wren, who was sitting on his lap in his imposing armchair, looked at him questioningly.

"The Elders agreed to see us tonight, my heart," the King spoke in a low voice, irritation hiding in it. "They know we will ask for their support and a letter for the Head of the village where the two children reside granting us the power over the boys' destiny."

Wren looked at the King, and he gave her a small tense smile. The endeavour was not promising to be easy.


	87. Chapter 87

**A/N: ****My darlings, I'm back!**** The book launch party/signing/reading was ace, but took lots out of me. I have also suddenly found myself signed up for a book fair in Toronto September 27th and that's quite an endeavour as well. But all and all, I seem to be a bit freer these days, so back to my usual, verra much frequent update schedule :D**

**Next chapter will be up tomorrow or Friday!**

* * *

**A/N#2: My wonderful talented friend and a fellow writer, Virginia McCain is 'dragging' me (nah, I am exuberant to go) to a road trip to ****Toronto**** to take part in ****The Word On the Street Book Fair, September 27th, 2015****. I'm excited! If you happen to be there as well, do come and find me! 50% off paperback **_**Convince Me the Winter Is Over**_** for you, and I would be so happy to sign it for you and chat!**

* * *

**A/N#3: Please, give my stories _Ani_ and _Blind Carnival_ on ****JukePop**** a read and a vote (or two;) if they happen to be to your liking. This is the last week of August and I have a chance to get into JP30 authors second month in a row! Thank you.**

* * *

**Love, love you, more than popcorn and lilacs bushes (which is a LOT!)**

**Yours truly,**

**kkolmakov**

* * *

Wren walked the passages, the King by her side, following a courtier who was leading them to the Elders' Council Hall. The halls they crossed were unfamiliar, and Wren assumed that the previous two times she had had a meeting with the Elders she had not had the honour to be invited to the appropriate chambers. The thought added apprehension to the mad mixture of emotions that were overwhelming her. At some point the King's pace stuttered, and suddenly he was walking closer to her and his hand brushed at hers. She looked at him. He gave her a small smile.

"Do not frown, ushaktul." There was laughter laced in his voice. "You will frighten the old men."

Wren quickly glanced at the courtier, but he was far enough.

"Am I right to assume they will try to refuse us?" Wren whispered.

"They do believe in your power," the King murmured mollifyingly. "But you are asking them to impose their authority on an autonomous village, and potentially give you the right to decide the destiny of two Dwarven children, who are orphaned and not the citizens of Erebor. That is a lot to ask."

Wren slowed down, putting even more distance between herself, the King and the Khuzd before them.

"Are they aware of our wedding?" Wren saw the King nod and another small smile grazed his lips.

"Not of the circumstances of it, of course, but the Loremaster informs them of such important events. They are to witness the marriage contract."

Wren took a deep measured breath in and squared her shoulders.

"And again, my heart," the King added, his hand brushing at the tips of her fingers peeking out of wide silken undersleeves, "They were intimidated by you even before you slew an enemy army. Imagine how uneasy they are right now." The King chuckled and strutted on. Wren had no choice but to follow.

* * *

Last time, when she had seen the Elders, there were only six of them. Besides the four of them who had refused her at the beginning of her quest, two more white-bearded, seasoned warriors were also there to greet her as part of her official visit to Erebor as Khazad Bahinh, the woman who brought King Thorin II back to life.

This time all twelve of them sat on two sides of the long council table, the seat in its head left unoccupied, as well as the seat to its right. When Wren entered the hall, the twelve men got up from their spots and bestowed her with bows. Some were low and respectful; some - hardly so. Wren returned the gesture, and then the King suddenly hasted, walked around her and took the seat to the right from the tall armchair in the head of the table. Wren froze in her tracks. Her eyes quickly searched the faces of the twelve old Dwarves, trying to determine whether this was an ordinary proceeding or she were later to thank the King for showing her additional reverence. She could not seem to find the answer to her question in the Elders' stone faces. Wren sighed discreetly and took the seat.

After a few colourful greetings, congratulations on Wren and Thorin's union, and wishes of prosperity and fruitfulness, one of the Elders addressed the King asking him to shortly describe the issue to be discussed.

"We all know of the twin children born in the village in Ered Mithrin," the King spoke calmly. "It has been six moons. The letters from the village inform us that the babes are healthy and growing. I have received a letter from Dain Ironfoot. His Queen had visited the village, and she confirmed everything known of them. They were indeed born of the same mother, the same day. They are Dwarven in appearance, which is confirmed by several healers and midwives. Now to the matter at hand..."

The King suddenly threw an encouraging look at Wren. She stared at him without understanding, but then she realized he expected her to speak now. The pause stretched, and then one by one the Elders turned their heads, following the King's eyes. Wren clenched her fists under the table.

"I have had a vision of these children." She felt her voice sounded unimpressive and squeaky in the large hall, its arched ceiling lost somewhere in the shadows above their heads, and she uncomfortably cleared her throat. "I saw the circumstances of their birth... The death of their mother..." A panicked regret that she had not prepared a speech thrashed in Wren's mind. She saw the fingers of one the Elders move, in Iglishmek, the secret Dwarven silent language. Wren realized that although it did not seem that way, everyone in the room saw the gesture. And everyone understood it; everyone, but her. She pressed her lips in distress.

"What do you think this vision means then, my lady?" one of the Elders asked, slightly bored expression on his face. It was Frar, son of Hori, one of the Elders Wren had met in her first encounter with them.

"I believe it is my magic telling me to go to Ered Mithrin to see them." Her voice lacked any sort of confidence.

Wren was feeling increasingly flustered. She did not expect much geniality from the elderly Dwarves, but somehow she did not predict feeling that lost and affected either. She wondered if it were her parturiency that was making her feel so vulnerable and uncertain. She quickly glanced at the King. He seemed calm, almost detached. Wren's mind swung from feeling apprehensive, - he honestly should have been more supportive of her, - to feeling even more lost. She almost started doubting her own conviction.

"And after seeing the babes, what do you hope to achieve?" a scratchy voice of another Elder shook Wren out of her panicked thoughts.

Wren glanced around the room. She wondered whether the Elders were indeed hiding mockery and derision under the polite masks as it seemed to her, or she was imagining it in her agitated state. Some sort of disgusting tremble seemed to be growing in her chest, her palms grew clammy.

She then looked at the King. She expected a frown, or tense corners of lips, or, hopefully, an encouragement in his irises. Their eyes met. The King seemed completely unruffled and at ease. His features bore the same expression she had seen on his face through the dinner they shared with Lady Dis and Balin, same relaxed features and eyes, as if kit up with content. She saw his hand, relaxed and unmoving on the table, and then he gave her a small nod, seemingly just acknowledging their eye contact, nothing more.

Wren inhaled deeply, air sliding into her lungs with a shudder, and she closed her eyes momentarily. And when she opened them, there was no more tremble in her limbs or uneasy fluttering in her chest.

"Once I see the babes with my own eyes, I will decide what is to be done with them." Wren's voice was firm, and then a confident haughty smiled grazed her lips. "My magic will show me the way. If indeed they are the reincarnation of Fili and Kili, King Thorin's sister-sons..." With some sort of vengeful pleasure, Wren noticed several faces waver, and her sensitive ears caught a few sharp breaths drawn in. "Then their fate is to be decided between their kin, the King and I."

In actuality, Wren did not know whether there was a way to validate what she suspected and the King seemed to be hoping for, as well as whether even with the support from the Elders, the children were to be moved or their circumstances were to change one way or another, were that the will of the King Under the Mountain, or herself. She felt she had spent so little time in Erebor, that she could hardly judge the politics of the Khazad.

Under the table, Wren fisted and unfisted her hand. Some part of her mind was hoping for the golden ribbons of her magic to flare up and perhaps knock couple goblets off the table, or even better so, knock some sense into the twelve old goats. She would not want to afflict them in any way, but she now knew how intimidating her magic could be. No such luck came to her, the magic was dormant. She could still feel its coursing and mild buzzing under her skin and in her veins, but was certain she would not be able to evoke it even if she decided to. She brought her mind on it once again, she could almost imagine a golden blossom, reminiscent of a chrysanthemum, to open on her palm, but none came.

The Elders exchanged glances, and several hands moved again, in a quick exchange of opinions in Iglishmek. Wren narrowed her eyes.

"I am no Khuzd, honourable lords," her voice rang through the hall surprisingly confidently, and heads whipped and fingers froze mid silent conversations. "I do not know the customs and I do not know the language." Wren infused the latest statement with enough venom to poison a barrel of mead. Fingers moved no more. "But I am the Queen of Erebor. I am Queen Under the Mountain. I am Khazad Bahinh, the Golden Lady. I would not deem it wise to doubt or challenge me." She lifted her chin up and gave each of the twelve Dwarves a straight look in the eyes, shifting her direct glare from face to face. And only after she was certain that each one of them saw the resolution in her eyes, she added, "Or my magic."

She got up, and men followed her example, some in haste as she noticed with pleasure.

"Do write the letter. The King and I are to venture on the journey as soon as possible."

Wren twirled on her heels and marched out of the room, leaving her husband behind, without looking back. The doors to the Hall closed behind her, and she made a few steps forward, still holding her back straight, and then she heavily leaned onto the wall. The courier walked a few steps further, giving her the privacy.

And then the doors creaked, and the King Under the Mountain stepped out of them. He walked up to her, and she lifted her face meeting his eyes.


	88. Chapter 88

**A/N: My duckies, just a reminder:**

**Dr. T series (**_**Touch the Nerve, Strike the Cord, Cut Through the Heart, and Heal All Wounds**_**) will be soon moved from FFnet to my blog: ****kolmakov dot ca****. Fanart and my personal edits for this story will go there as well. I will try to move all the four stories asap, so that I can start posting new chapters soon.**

**Please, if you like Dr. John Thorington, the genius neurosurgeon, and Wrennie Leary, a biochem student in a pickle, have a look and please, leave a comment!**

**The stories are to be updated every Friday!**

**Cheers!**

**kkolmakov**

* * *

"That was not the most decorous behaviour," the King spoke quietly, standing very close to her.

"Decorous behaviour?" Wren hissed through her teeth, her temper rising immediately. "They were mocking me!"

She looked over the King's face. There was humour dancing in his eyes, but he was also frowning lightly.

"The Elders have just asked questions, my heart. Nothing else. I understand you felt uncomfortable there..."

"Uncomfortable?" Wren seemed to be capable of nothing else but repeating his words she found most offensive. "They were talking as much as behind my back, knowing I would not understand the gesture language. And their tone..."

The King interrupted her by picking her under her elbow and pulling her into some side passage. He pushed seemingly the first door he saw, and they found themselves in a narrow steep staircase. The King closed the door behind him, separating the two of them from the world.

"My heart…" His tone was soft, which irked Wren even more. She felt he was patronising her, perhaps in her expectant state. "I have not interfered there..."

"Indeed you have not," Wren sneered back, still keeping her voice down. "I expected more aid from you."

The King gave her another warm calm look. "I did not feel you required it."

Wren exhaled, her agitation slightly deflating from his words. "Thorin, I know you believe in my magic..." She trailed away, planning to tell him how much the mistrust from the Elders aggravated her.

"I believe in you, ushaktul." The King gave her another small warm smile. "I knew you would achieve what you wanted. And I do not deem it wise to challenge or doubt you," he said, more mischief now hiding in his smirk, when he was clearly alluding to her words thrown to the old Dwarves. Wren blushed and bashfully bit into her bottom lip. From his lips the words sounded much harsher than she thought they had sounded in the Council Halls.

"However, my heart, your behaviour could be perceived as rather immature," the King returned to the initial subject of their conversation, and Wren tensed. "Perhaps, less temperamental words would have been received better."

Wren twitched her nose in rising irritation.

"Thorin, I had every right to be temperamental! You were there, you heard their rejoinders, their doubt..."

"Just as I explained to you when we were walking to the Council Halls, you are indeed asking a lot from them..."

"I do not!" Wren interrupted. "All I am asking of them is to affirm their trust in me and my magic in a letter. Nothing is clear, to say nothing of decided yet. I have not seen the babes, I do not know why my magic tells me to travel there, but should not Erebor's support be betokened with a simple letter to confirm that indeed the Kingdom placed its trust onto the person whose magic had returned it its King?"

Wren was painfully aware that they did not seem to be talking directly, but using ambiguous lines and convoluted statements. She once again was reminded that she had married a Dwarf, and such was their manner of handling their matters, especially of sensitive sort. Wren, on the other hand, found such manner vexatious.

"Thorin, could we speak openly?" she begged, and stepping closer to him, she put her hand on his chest. "What do you think I should have done?"

The King sighed. "Perhaps, a less hasty retreat would have been wiser." Wren frowned but continued to listen. "Leaving after delivering an intimidating statement without as much as making sure the intimidation took effect is..." The King seemed to be searching for the right word. "Infantile."

"Are you saying I threw a childish fit?" Wren as much as took a step back from him in disbelief. The King's face remained unreadable. "Thorin!" she exclaimed and then saw the King throw a cautious look at the door. That made Wren clench her jaw to rein her anger. Indeed, a rapidly growing discord in the royal couple was perhaps not to become public news. "Was any of my words false? Am I not the Queen of Erebor? Have I not proven my magic is to be listened to?"

"You are the Queen, Wren." The King's mollifying tone did not bring any relief to Wren. More so, it might have only aggravated her displeasure. "But what sort of Queen do you want to be, Wren? The one who respects the Elders of her Kingdom and its customs, or the one who is ready to rush out of room when she is as much as irked?"

Wren could not believe her ears!

"I do not remember you ever mentioning any sort of reverence towards the Elders from you, Thorin! I remember you calling them unreasonable, bigoted, pig-headed even, and now you want me to bow to them!"

"You are twisting my words, Wren." Finally, cracks started appearing in the King's composure, and from the corner of her eye Wren noticed him fist his right hand. "A better move in diplomacy would have been to finish that conversation!"

"There was no conversation!" Wren's composure was slipping even faster than the King's. "I was asked sardonic questions, and my vision was not taken seriously. Are you going to ask of me to go back into that Hall and apologise now?" she asked venomously, and the King gritted his teeth.

"Do not be ridiculous, Wren. I am not asking you to change your behaviour, I am asking you to reconsider it. Is that how you want to rule Erebor? Allowing your temper get the best of you?" there was sincere indignation in his tone, and suddenly Wren started laughing loudly. The laughter was joyless, though.

"That is quite an occurrence, my lord..." In her bitter sarcasm, Wren inexplicably slipped into using the old moniker. "A Dwarf preaching on the control over one's temper."

The King narrowed his eyes, his lips tense. He gave her a studying look and then jerked his chin up. His blue eyes were cold.

"So, you stand by your choice of conduct then..." The thick black brows were drawn, and his tone was low and hollow.

Wren squared her shoulders.

"I do."

"Then you are choosing the path with many obstacles in front of you, Wren," the King answered quietly.

He then turned away from her and opened the door, clearly signalling that their conversation was over. Wren lifted her chin and marched by him.

The courtier was waiting at the end of the passage, and Wren walked to him, without a single glance back. The King returned to the Council halls.

* * *

Wren entered the rooms she had been given as the official guest of Erebor, and she fell into an armchair in front of the fireplace. She felt ruffled and confused, and her thoughts returned again and again to her confrontation with the Elders, and the consequent argument with the King.

Til approached her, to inform her that the bath was prepared, and Wren quickly undressed and sank into the hot fragrant water. She continued her ruminations, but she was still feeling utterly perplexed. She could not quite form her decisive opinion on the events of the evening, and she sat in the tub until the water cooled and the suds of soap bark disappeared from its surface.

Til brought Wren a nightgown, another of many opulent alluring garbs Wren had been given as an honourary guest, and Wren slipped into it, then put the robe over it, tying the wide embroidered belt tightly around her waist, and she sat back into the armchair. She watched the dancing flames lost in her thoughts while Til dried and brushed Wren's copper curls.

"May I braid your hair, my lady? Before we go to the royal halls." The maid's tone was nonchalant, but Wren jolted, remembering that she was expected to go to King Thorin's bedroom now. She felt so perplexed that it suddenly seemed like an erroneous proceeding. She did not wish to continue their misunderstanding, but she felt she would still go on antagonising him if they were in the same room. Wren always believed that sometimes each person just needed to be left alone.

"I am staying here tonight, Til. Please, prepare my bed."

Wren kept her eyes on the fire in front of her, not wishing to see the maid's reaction to her words, and after an almost unnoticeable pause the girl answered, "Of course, my lady."

Til left, and Wren sat wriggling her fingers and agonising over her decision.

Several minutes later she slid between covers and furs, Til put out candles and the oil lamp near Wren's bed, and the former healer of Dale closed her eyes, in her maiden bed on the second night of her marriage.

* * *

_Ra nî lomil tamhari, akhsigabi azâgê... / And if the night is burning, I will cover my eyes..._

* * *

It was a dream. She knew it, and yet she once again felt how corporeal everything felt. She stepped inside and realised she was in one of the inner rooms of the Royal Hall. She had a vague memory of passing this room on her way to the King's bedchamber. It was a smaller chamber, and Wren just had had a peek in it through an open door.

At the moment the room was clearly a nursery, with a luxuriant cot in the middle of it. It was full of appropriate furniture and crates and trunks, perhaps with some of a babe's belongings, and Wren froze on the threshold.

The Dwarf named Dain got up from a low settee by the wall. He held an open book in his hand, and then he gracefully bent and placed it on the bench near him. With all possible conviction Wren suddenly realised he was stalling, regaining his composure, and hiding his face from her. When he straightened up, his features were blissfully relaxed and the expression content.

"Good evening, amad."

* * *

**It's not stalking if I encouraged you :)**

Find me, if you like, on

**#JukePop: **Katya Kolmakov

**_Blind Carnival_** (Wren a.k.a. Olivia + Thorin a.k.a. John in a humourous take on an erotic novel)

{updated every Thursday}

_**Ani** _(a spin on _Me Without You_ plot with a love triangle and ginger pseudo-Vikings added to the mix)

{updated every Monday}

**#Facebook: **Katya Kolmakov

**#Twitter: **katyakolmakov

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**#My blog: **kolmakov dot ca

* * *

**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

my first novel, based on a story written here

**Available on Amazon**

**Kindle &amp; Paper!**

_**Summary:**_

Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom.

John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm.

Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more.

Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?

* * *

**Please, be so kind as to leave a review for the book**

**on Amazon and Goodreads.**

**Thank you.**


	89. Chapter 89

**A/N: Have you noticed that FFnet was down for a few days and there was no way to post anything? Well, I did! I was as much as in withdrawal! Grrrr… :)**

**Anyroad, here are two chapters for this story, and there will be a chapter for Hogwarts adventures tonight as well. I'm relieved to finally release them in the wild. They were fussy in their cages :)**

**So, this is ****1 out of 2**** for today.**

* * *

Wren sighed. "Are you going to tell me I was unfair to your father and I need to rush to his rooms and beg forgiveness, or some new horrible calamity will befall us?" she asked sarcastically. "What is it this time? A dragon? A band of bog trolls?"

Wren's tone was irked and unpleasant, and she walked up to a table by the wall. There were some small necessities on it, cloths and jars, and Wren wanted to touch but stubbornly pressed her lips and jerked her hand back. A silver rattle with intricate engraving caught her eye. The runes were of Khuzdul, and she could not read them.

"It says 'Thror, son of Thorin.'" The voice of the one called Dain was soft and warm. "The Heir to the Throne of Durin. This room will be prepared just after your wedding, amad. And after a few years my sister, myself and then my brother will occupy it."

Wren whipped her head and stared at him.

"Four children?" she breathed out, and he smiled again and nodded.

"In my world, aye. But you are not my mother, not exactly. Your destiny differs from hers."

"And yet you are trying to correct my path to fit hers," Wren quipped bitterly. "That is why you lied to me before the battle in Dale. You told me he would fall so I rushed there and my magic awoke."

The Dwarf in front of her shook his head slowly.

"No, amad. I did not lie. Only your presence at the Ravenhill saved King Thorin that time. The Orcs surrounded him, he was wounded, and you saved him with your golden glow…"

"The Orcs did not come to the Ravenhill this time, Dane," Wren corrected him. Utter surprise coloured the Dwarf's features. "The back passages of Erebor had been sealed, after I escaped through them upon destroying the Arkenstone. The battle took a different course from the one you know. I was as much as useless in that battle. More so, I am still ridiculed for rushing into it thinking myself a saviour and sprouting my magic ribbons, and..." Wren's voice broke, and she heavily sat on the nearest settee.

"Knowing you, amad, I am certain you just do not give yourself enough credit. I am sure you were of great aid and Erebor is grateful."

Wren was looking at her fingers, playing with the tussle at the end of her robe belt.

"I would have left after that battle. They would have won, without me, and I would have left. I had been adamant. And then my magic manifested, and no one could understand me, but your father… And I stayed after the battle, and we talked, and I understood I loved him..."

She lifted her eyes and saw a disbelieving smile play on the lips of the one called Dain.

"Just as it was meant to be…" He laughed softly. "Mahal, help me, no matter what, that is always how it ends..." He shook his head, his eyes unseeing and wide open. "And here I think I am influencing it, but your destiny still flows the way it is meant to be, with or without my clumsy interference."

"Why are you here today, Dain?" Wren asked. She felt tired and irritated. "I am not going to apologise for my behaviour in the Elders Halls. I might have been rash, but your father had no right to judge me. I was grateful for his trust in the Council but I did not appreciate his behaviour after it."

"I do not have the slightest idea what you are talking about, amad." Dain's eyes were laughing, and Wren threw him a suspicious look. "I believe I was given this chance to see you to apologise for lying to you about the Arkenstone and to congratulate you with your wedding."

Wren frowned. She had no means to confirm the truthfulness of his words.

"Why _did _you lie to me about the Arkenstone? Both you and Lady Galadriel made me believe I was giving him up… She even offered me to deliberately fail my quest. Keep your father in my dreams… I would never have done it!" The memories of excruciating heartache of those days made Wren cringe and wrap her arms around her middle.

"It had to be a sacrifice, amad. The ultimate one. It was not about giving the Mountain its heart back, it was about giving up a living, loving heart for his sake." Acute sympathy ran in Dain's eyes. "I am sorry."

Wren saw gravity and pain in his eyes, and she frowned.

"It seems that in your mind, Dain, means justify ends. I cannot believe I could have brought you up this way."

"You have not, amad. You always taught me that deceit tarnished the one who deceives. But I am not you. We are not the same person. I make my own decisions. I made this one."

He sat near her, and she looked at him from the corner of her eye. His face was blissfully calm, and she studied the features, a perfect mixture of her own, high cheekbones and narrow chin, and his father's noble profile and the soft line of lips.

"I wish I could have explained to you how cruel this decision was," she whispered.

"I know how much it excruciated you, amad. And yet I stand by it. It was part of your quest, and you went out of it victorious. I assure you, neither I, nor Lady Galadriel doubted you for one bit."

Wren threw another look at him sideways.

"You are so much like your father..." she sighed, and he smiled to her widely.

"Am I forgiven, amad?"

"No," Wren deadpanned, and the brilliant smile dropped. "But I am learning to accept you the way you are."

"That is enough for me, amad," he answered softly, picked up her hand and pressed it to her lips.

They sat in silence for a few moments, and Wren sighed again. She felt enervated and restless. She could have lied to herself, but she knew it was because she was in her rooms, alone, instead of tucked into the scorching body of the King Under the Mountain. Her mind, her body and her magic craved his presence, and the longing seeped into her mind even in its sleeping state.

"We are to travel to Ered Mithrin in a two days," Wren suddenly spoke quietly. She did not know why she decided to share it with a figment of her dream. "Twin boys were born there, and I saw them in a vision."

Astute green eyes of the Dwarf sitting by her narrowed.

"Twin boys?"

"Aye… A fair haired one, and another, with hair of the colour of strong coffee."

The one called Dain tried to suppress a smile, but the corner of his lips twitched.

"Iraknaddad," he whispered, and Wren theatrically rolled her eyes.

"You are just like your father. Taunting me with my ignorance in Khuzdul."

"Oh right, in your world you have not gotten a chance to learn the language."

Wren thought of those lessons she had had so far, and blushed.

"I will learn it. Now that I am to be the Queen..." Wren chewed on her bottom lip. "What does 'iraknaddad' mean?"

"Oh no, not anymore," the one called Dain laughed and rose. "I am not interfering anymore. It is quite clear you are managing perfectly without me."

"What is the use in these dreams if they do not seem at all helpful?! You are no better than that one Ranger of Ithilien I know! He also mentioned some dreams but then I never found out what they were about." Wren rose as well, and was smoothing out her skirt when she heard the one called Dain move sharply. His strong fingers wrapped around her upper arm.

"Amrod? Is his name Amrod, son of Mablung?" Dain's voice rang, tense and sharp, and his face was panicked, pale. Wren stepped closer to him.

"Aye, it is. What is it, Dain? What is wrong?"

"It is too early for him… He is to appear in four years… It makes no sense..." Dain muttered, his eyes widened. "Where did you meet him? Where is he now?"

"He saved my life when we were crossing the Mountains, and then he helped us to return to Chief Beorn's village. He was to accompany me back, it was agreed on when I had been still intending to return to the village… He is in Dale now I presume, but perhaps he is to go back already..." Suddenly Dain's fingers clasped around Wren's arm painfully, and she saw his face grow even more wan and terrified.

"That village, with the boys, were is it? Is it to the East of Ered Mithrin? Are you to go through Mirkwood, leave it on the other side, and then head North?"

"Dain, what is it? You are frightening me..."

"Tell me, amad! Is this how your path to go?" Dain grabbed her other arm and as much as gave her a small shake.

"Yes. Yes, that is how we are to travel. Dain..."

"He needs to go with you, amad! Amrod has to go with you. There will be an ambush on the road, two packs of Orcs, and he is to be there…."

"What?" Wren's eyes roamed his face.

"That happened in my world, but many years later. Thror was already born, a child of seven. You and adad travelled those lands, Amrod served in the Chief Beorn's guard, and he accompanied you in your return to Erebor. There was an ambush, but Amdor saved adad. I do not know… The events seem to be out of order, but you met him earlier, perhaps the ambush is to happen earlier too..."

"Dain, I hardly know Amrod, why would he go with us? And how am I to ask him? How to explain..." Dain threw a grave look at Wren.

"Has he explained anything to you?"

"He mentioned he had seen me in his dreams before. I assumed that was his usual device to hoax women into…" Wren trailed away. "He seemed to be a rather promiscuous person. And..."

"He is, but not with you, amad." The Dwarf stepped back from Wren and rubbed his forehead in distress. The gesture was so reminiscent of his father's that Wren's heart fluttered. "Many years after the events, you told me of him. How the blood of the Kings of Old ran in his veins, of his gift of premonition. Of how he had seen you in his dreams before meeting you, and how you shared the dreams. You had seen the future with him as well, the house, the children, and how you were given a choice, and you chose adad… And how difficult that choice was..."

"That is nonsence, Dain!" Wren cried out. "I would never have a single doubt! I hardly know the man, and what I know does not seem that attractive to me."

Dain shook his head mournfully.

"And nonetheless… Amad, you need to ask him to go with you! I know what it will sound like, but perhaps this time it is indeed the question of life and death for King Thorin!"

Wren dropped on the settee and pressed her hands to her temples. What was she to do now?

* * *

**A/N: My darlings, reminds you of anything? Amrod, travelling, ambush?.. "Thorin's Defeat" anyone? **

* * *

**It's not stalking if I encouraged you :)**

Find me, if you like, on

**#JukePop: **Katya Kolmakov

**_Blind Carnival_** (Wren a.k.a. Olivia + Thorin a.k.a. John in a humourous take on an erotic novel)

{updated every Thursday}

_**Ani** _(a spin on _Me Without You_ plot with a love triangle and ginger pseudo-Vikings added to the mix)

{updated every Monday}

**#Facebook: **Katya Kolmakov

**#Twitter: **katyakolmakov

**#Instagram: **kkolmakov

**#Pinterest:** Katya Kolmakov

**#My blog: **kolmakov dot ca

* * *

**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

my first novel, based on a story written here

**Available on Amazon**

**Kindle &amp; Paper!**

_**Summary:**_

Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom.

John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm.

Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more.

Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?

* * *

**Please, be so kind as to leave a review for the book**

**on Amazon and Goodreads.**

**Thank you.**


	90. Chapter 90

**A/N: Have you noticed that FFnet has been down for a few days and there was no way to post anything? Well, I did! I was as much as in withdrawal! Grrrr… :)**

**Anyroad, here are two chapters for this story, and there will be a chapter for Hogwarts adventures tonight as well. I'm relieved to finally release them in the wild. They were fussy in their cages :)**

**So, this is ****2 out of 2**** for today.**

* * *

They had been arguing for quite a while now.

"I cannot simply ask a man I saw twice in my life to accompany me to a journey because in a world - that a person I dreamt of told me about - it saved the life of another, and might save it here as well! To say nothing of how your father will react to such addition to our company!" Wren was pacing the room flailing her arms.

"Explain to him that I told you about that ambush. He will believe you!" Dain stretched his hand to her, in an almost begging gesture. Wren stopped and sighed deeply.

"I have not told your father about you," Wren whispered.

"What?!" He stared at her aghast.

"It just never… came to me. I did not know what I myself thought of my dreams, and I was angry with you..." Wren threw him an apologetic look. "I was going to, I swear, but there was so much going on..."

"He does not know about me..." Dain's voice was hollow.

Wren bit into her bottom lip. It had never come to her mind to consider the feelings of the person she was not sure was even real. And now she saw a son who was deprived of a chance to impress his father.

"Dain… I thought it was you whom I carried under my heart. I thought you would meet quite soon..." Wren awkwardly explained, and Dain chuckled joylessly.

"No, that would be Thror. And there is still a chance I would not even be born in your world, amad." He gave her a slightly exaggerated pained look.

Wren could see that it was at least partially an attempt to emotionally manipulate her. She sighed. She still felt horrible.

"Dain..." She stepped closer and brushed her hand to his shoulder.

Dain shook off his bathos and gave her a direct look.

"It matters not. What matters is that Amrod goes with you on this trip, amad! Talk to adad!"

"He already once tried to chop off Amrod's head! And that was for mentioning that Amrod saved my life. How will it look if I beg your father to take this man with us? It is a ten day trip! They will be at each other's throats at all times."

"Amad, what if I am right? What if the events are repeating themselves?" Dain frowned, the corners of his lips drooping in distress.

Wren drew a breath in and fisted her hands. Just as before, she only had one answer to a dilemma of this sort. When it came to the life of the king, she had no choice.

"I will talk to your father. I will try… If there is a chance he is in danger, I have to try. But, Dain..." Wren looked at the Dwarf uneasily. "Why would Amrod go with us?"

"He will, amad. If you ask him, he will." Some sort of a shadow ran the features of the one named Dain, and Wren's heart clenched. She opened her mouth to ask, but some sort of blinding light flooded the room, and...

* * *

_Ra adjini tada zasaziliki e... / I'll hope you'll remember me…_

* * *

Wren sat up on her bed, shaking and feeling tears running down her cheeks. She jumped out of bed, grabbed her robe, and rushed out of the bedchamber.

Her feet softly pitter-pattered on the stone floor of the passage, and she ran faster and faster. She was only hoping she remembered the path right, and her heart was beating painfully in her chest. Sudden fear made her shake, and she felt that every instant she was away from the King was filled with danger for him. She turned another corner, and suddenly the doors to the King's bedchambers were in front of her.

Without a single doubt, she started knocking loudly at them, as much as banging with her fists, and there was some noise behind them, and he opened them.

She threw herself on his neck, pressing into him, grasping handfuls of his hair, shaking and mumbling. He froze for an instant, and then the arms went around her.

"Mayar help me, Thorin..." she breathed out, and then moved away and cupped his face. He was frowning, his eyes searching her face.

"Wren, what?.."

She lunged ahead and kissed him firmly. She did not care that they stood in the open doors of his bedroom, her in her undergarments, somewhere where anyone could see. He was rigid, not quite returning her busses, and she grabbed his ears, meeting his eyes firmly.

"We need to talk, Thorin. Please, let me in."

He halted for a fracture of a second, and then he stepped back and to the side. She marched by him, her heart finally slowing its race.

"These are your rooms now as well, Wren. You do not need my permission to come in." The King sounded grumpy, and Wren looked at him. He was dressed in the day clothes, the ones she saw him in after the Council with Elders. It was hours past midnight, but he clearly had not gone to bed. There was a large book open on the armchair near the fireplace, and a pipe sat in a tray with ashes, thick swirls of white aromatic smoke dancing above it.

"Were you working?" Wren suddenly wondered if she was interrupting.

"Do come in, Wren," he answered tiredly, and she walked to the other armchair. She was suddenly feeling anxious, so different from exactly these circumstances from the day before.

"I do not wish to bother you, you are probably preoccupied with some state matters, but... " Wren wriggled her fingers. "I have things to tell you, but if you have to finish attending to your duties..."

"I was trying to attend to my duties, Wren." The King walked up to his armchair, picked up his book and then suddenly threw it on the nearest table in obvious irritation. "I have been reading the same page for the last hour." He looked immediately uneasy from his confession, and Wren shifted between her feet.

"Have you come to apologise for your outburst, Wren?" the King asked, throwing her an unreadable look. Wren pursed her lips. She was not intending to apologise, she did not feel she was in the wrong. "Then please do not feel you have to. I was wrong to speak thusly to you. I..."

"Thorin… Neither of us was right or wrong," Wren interrupted him. "We saw different ways to act in that situation, and I think we should just agree that it will happen again. We do not share a mind. It is only natural..."

While speaking Wren made a small step towards him, and he suddenly made a wide one towards her and pulled her in.

"I could not sleep..." he mumbled, or at least she thought that was what she heard. She wondered how much he had to be afflicted by their discord to confess this now. She embraced him tightly and kept silently, assuming he would prefer her not to acknowledge his moment of weakness.

She was right, because a few instants later he released her and pretended to go to the desk to pick the book he threw. He cleared his throat, still his back to her, and placing the volume on a shelf he spoke, "What did you want to discuss?"

Wren sighed. She felt their misunderstanding had not been overcome fully, perhaps she craved a kiss or an embrace to seal their reconciliation, but he seemed to be needing another moment to recover, and Wren sat in the armchair she had occupied the day before.

"I have a confession to make, Thorin." The King turned around and stared at her intently. His grave, suspicious look did not make Wren feel any easier. "I have withheld something from you. About my visions and my dreams… And my quest..."

He kept silent allowing her to elaborate. She felt some sort of weight pressing on her chest. Her arms went around her middle, and she suddenly felt cold, despite the fire burning near her. Something trembled inside her. She felt almost regretful that she had started this conversation. A cowardly thought came, that she should have first made peace with him and enjoyed his warmth and affection before breaching this subject.

She took a shuddered breath in. He seemed distant and intimidating now, leaning his back at the shelf by the wall, his arms folded in his habitual gesture on his chest. The difference in their attires made it even more discomforting for her. She wore a nightgown and a robe, while he was clad in his opulent attire, an embroidered doublet, dark blue, with his crest on the large silver buckle on his waist. Wren shivered.

"When I traveled, I had dreams… not only the ones with you in them, but with time I had other encounters as well..."

She saw him narrow his eyes.

"With whom?" His voice was low and seemed almost enraged.

"His name was Dain… He seems to be a Dwarf, but… It took me some time to understand..."

"My beautiful boy..." the King suddenly exhaled, in a hollow raspy voice, and Wren looked up at him not understanding.

"What?"

"That is what you said when you were muddled on gibir hamd. After the feast… You murmured of your love to him..." The King's face grew dark, and suddenly Wren felt terror. She had never seen him like this, but she imagined that one more wrong word and she would know the infamous temper of the King Under the Mountain.

A small voice in her mind suddenly tempted her to keep silent and let him continue with his erroneous assumptions. There was suspicion, and rage, and hurt splashing in his eyes, muscle knots danced on his jaw, and he clenched his massive fists. Suddenly Wren wondered whether, if provoked, he would be able to strike her.

Wren clearly understood that her next words would decide everything.

"Thorin..."

* * *

**A/N: Bwahahaha, if some of you thought my previous cliffhangers were annoying, how about this one? :P**

* * *

**It's not stalking if I encouraged you :)**

Find me, if you like, on

**#JukePop: **Katya Kolmakov

**_Blind Carnival_** (Wren a.k.a. Olivia + Thorin a.k.a. John in a humourous take on an erotic novel)

{updated every Thursday}

_**Ani** _(a spin on _Me Without You_ plot with a love triangle and ginger pseudo-Vikings added to the mix)

{updated every Monday}

**#Facebook: **Katya Kolmakov

**#Twitter: **katyakolmakov

**#Instagram: **kkolmakov

**#Pinterest:** Katya Kolmakov

**#My blog: **kolmakov dot ca

* * *

**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

my first novel, based on a story written here

**Available on Amazon**

**Kindle &amp; Paper!**

_**Summary:**_

Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom.

John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm.

Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more.

Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?

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**Please, be so kind as to leave a review for the book**

**on Amazon and Goodreads.**

**Thank you.**


	91. Chapter 91

**A/N: NEWS! NEWS! NEWS!**

**Dr T series will be moved to my blog (kolmakov dot ca) over this weekend and new chapters will appear every Friday.**

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**A/N#2: EVEN BETTER NEWS! :D**

**I am soon starting a new webserial on my blog, with John and Wren of course, but this time the tables will turn :D**

**I present to you: _May to December Webserial_**

**_Summary: _**

**After a Summer of working together on a research project, John Thorington is taking a Master's course with his former boss, Wren Leary. She is 42, divorced, and clearly only sees him as a student. In his 24, John considers himself mature enough to pursue the woman who captivates his mind and heart. Will John succeed in the short months till Christmas to convince her to give him a chance?**

**_Soon on my blog kolmakov dot ca!_**

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**A/N#3: If you are enjoying my writing outside the Hobbit fandom, I suggest following my Facebook page. I post all updates there (JukePop, two webserials on my blog, and whatever other projects I'm working on). It's Katya Kolmakov. I also have Twitter and Instagram. Come, my lovelies, let's hang out! :)**

**Comments on my writing on my blog and JukePop are highly appreciated just like reviews in here :D**

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**A/N#4: OK, last thing :) The cliffhangers ARE NOT me being annoying :D (well, maybe a wee bit) *fake defensive tone* They are Katya-taking-a-pause-to-think moments. **

**What's more important, they are a chance for you, my lovely readers, to give me feedback, to share your thoughts, to make suggestions (preferably in a review to each chapter *wink wink nudge nudge*). That's the charm of writing a chapter-per-post story, me hearties, and not a book, boringly, alone, in my office! You have the power to influence the story, share the responsibility, make it our mutual experience! Execute it! :D**

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"Thorin..." Wren spoke softly and turned to the King. He was wan, and his eyes were fixed on her. "I beg you to let me explain before you make any assumptions..."

"Any assumptions regarding a man from your past you hid from me?! From the very start!" The King's voice was shaking, and a shiver of fear ran down Wren's spine. "The man you loved and whose absence you lamented hours after you kissed me at the feast?!" The King made a step towards her, his hands in massive tight fists, and she unconsciously winced away from him. "The man whom you saw in your dreams, through your magic, that you claimed was only for me?!" The last few words were just an enraged hiss, and he now stood right in front of her, fury and heat radiating from him.

"You seem to have decided everything already..." Wren mumbled, feeling panicked and lost. "You seem to have chosen to see me as a deceiver already..."

"I have not decided anything!" the King barked, and she winced again. "You have just confessed of your deceit yourself!"

"I have not!" Wren raised her voice. "All I said was that I had dreams..."

"Of another!" the King shouted, and Wren took a step backwards.

"I do not control them! I was given them!"

"You do control your heart though! And your tongue! You loved him, and lied about him!"

"I have… not..." Wren's voice broke, and that was the last drop. Her lack of decisive denial seemed to have pushed the King over the edge, and he snarled through his teeth, and his hand flew up in the air. Wren gasped, and shrank, and curled, wrapping her arms around her stomach, an urge to protect her unborn child the only thought in her mind. The blow did not follow.

"Mahal help me, what… " The King swayed, his eyes roaming her, no doubt, terrified face. "What is this madness..." The King stumbled backwards, away from her, his eyes suddenly losing the livid expression. "Wren, I would never..." The hand dropped, and his face wavered, lips twisting in a pained grimace.

"You have no right..." Wren breathed out, straightening her back, and it was the King's turn to wince from her. "You have no right to question me. My loyalty… I am your wife, I have given an oath. You are supposed to trust me..." Her voice was gaining strength. "You did not let me say a word… You immediately thought of the worst!"

"Wren, I..." The King seemed to be unable to find anything to say, and even more ache splashed onto his features.

"Do you think I would have been yours, lain with you, married you if I loved another?! Do you think that low of me?" The more distraught the King looked, the more anger rose in Wren. "You raised your hand at me! You did not strike, but you did!" She was now screaming into his face, and he stumbled even further away from her.

"Wren..."

Bitter taste filled Wren's mouth, and venomous words were at the tip of her tongue, of how she should have thought twice before marrying him, of how she should have waited to see if there were enough trust between them, of how they had already had this discussion, about other men the King suspected were important in her life. And of course she could just say that the man in her dreams was none other but his son, his loving offspring and loyal child who wanted nothing else but to protect his adad.

But Wren said nothing and just stood and watched the King's face. His lips parted slightly, and then again, as if he were intending to beg forgiveness, but he knew that it would not bring any fruit.

He stood in front of her, lost, his chest heaving, his eyes widened and distressed.

"I would not have struck you… Never…" he finally rasped out. "Rage and fire are in our nature, but I would never… Not you..."

Wren's lips were pressed in a stern line, and she studied his face. She could see how sorrowful he was, but how could she be certain it were for the right reasons? He scared her, but it was not the threat of violence that she was most devastated by.

"You do not have any credence in me, Thorin..." Her voice was starting to tremble. She was feeling less scared, and now acute pain was spilling in her chest. She did not allow tears to rise, she took a few deep breaths in and fisted her hands. "You just assumed..."

"I was jealous," the King interrupted, and Wren drew her brows together.

"That is no excuse! It has nothing to do with me! These are your doubts of your own worth!" The King jerked as if she hit him. Her words were sharp and cruel, but she felt they had to be said. "It is unfair and disrespectful, Thorin. You either trust me and do not let your own flawed logic poison our relationship, or this marriage will become a torture for both of us!"

The King finally moved, and after several uncertain steps he heavily sat in his armchair. His eyes were fixed on the carpet on the floor, his face dark, and Wren could see how white the knuckles of his intertwined hands were. Wren stood, waiting for his answer. There were several long minutes of silence.

"It is no excuse of course, but..." the King repeated slowly. "I am a Dwarf, Wren… And it is indeed no excuse, but I was brought up to guard my treasures, to be possessive, to make sure it is not stolen..."

"I am not a golden goblet, Thorin," Wren interrupted, her voice firm. "I do not need guarding. I do not need a warden. I need a husband who trusts me."

The King lifted his face and looked at her, pain splashing in his eyes.

"I do not know how to be one..." he suddenly whispered, and Wren gasped from the pure vulnerability of his words, and the expression on his noble, proud face. She stepped ahead, first in an urgent instinctive move, and then with the full realisation of what she was doing. She knelt in front of him, not touching him, still sore and pained after what had happened.

"I do not know how to be a wife either… There is blame on me as well. We should have had this conversation earlier." Wren swallowed a knot in her throat, and she could see a multitude of different thoughts tearing at the King's mind and pulling him in all directions. "But I expected you to give me at least one chance to explain..."

The King dropped his head, and Wren got up and walked to her armchair. She was now feeling tired, cold and morose, after the turbulent emotions, and she wrapped her arms around her and rubbed her upper arms. The King noticed and got up to add more wood into the fireplace.

"Do you want a cover… or some furs, perhaps?" the King asked, his voice hollow and as if unused for quite a while. Wren nodded, and soon a richly embroidered quilt lay on her shoulders. She noticed the King made a special effort not to touch her.

* * *

"His name is Dain. He is not of our world, he is from some other existence, where you lived in the Battle of the Five Armies, and I married you, and he is our son." Wren could not recognise her own voice, it was so even and dull, and then the King jolted, and dropped the poker he was moving the logs with, scooting in front of the fireplace.

"What?" The blue eye roamed her face, and she wondered whether the King truly thought she would lie or jest about something of the sort.

"Not this son." Wren stroked her stomach. "In his world we had more children. He came to me to advise me in my quest, to help to save you." Wren seemed to run out of words, and now that the truth was out, she felt nothing but emptiness and exhaustion. "I did not know how to tell you before..."

She looked at the King and saw his face was first emotional and shocked, but then, quickly, it grew cold and reserved.

"You saw a son for us… During your quest..." Wren nodded. He rubbed his face with his hands and then shook his head. "You saw a son for us, a future, but nonetheless you refused me. You gave that future up!" The King jumped at his feet and started pacing in front of Wren. "After the feast, you kept on saying of how you would never see your 'beautiful boy' again! You gave up your chance to have a child with me, although you knew it could have happened!"

Wren had nothing to do but to nod.

"How could you?.." The King sounded utterly devastated.

"It was my decision to make. And I made it." Wren had had this very conversation with herself every night after she refused the King. She still stood by her choice.

"I do not know what to say..." The King returned into his chair. He steepled his fingers, and his eyes were glued to the flames. "You have just accused me of not trusting you enough, but you never spoke of it. I had the right… to know..."

"That you could have theoretically had a son with me?" Wren asked, trying to keep sardonic notes out of her tone, but failing. "The possibility has always been there. We have talked about my refusal before, Thorin. I did what I thought was best for all of us."

The King kept on shaking his head, his face coloured with desolation, and his lips moved, as if he were leading a silent argument, with Wren, himself, or some other forces, and then he looked at Wren.

"Why are you telling me about him now?"

"I had another dream today. He gave me guidance, and I cannot disregard it. I had to talk to you..." The King gave her a grim look. "Dain told me that unless we allow Amrod, the Ranger of Ithilien accompany us to the trip to Ered Mithrin, your life could be in danger."

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**A/N: Thought? Comments? I'll be here, drinking Earl Grey and thinking what's next :)**


	92. Chapter 92

**A/N: Would you like a modern Wren and Thorin romance? Go to my blog ****kolmakov dot ca**** and find **_**Dr T Series**_** in the top menu. 1 out 4 stories have been posted and I'm editing the next ones to post them shortly. **

**Just as reviews here, ****comments under a chapter**** are highly appreciated! :) I would love to hear you opinion, my darlings!**

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**A/N#2: According to my self-implemented schedule, **_**Ani**_** on ****JukePop**** was updated on Monday, and **_**Blind Carnival **_**will receive a new chapter tomorrow. The chapters for **_**Blind Carnival**_** that have been published here on FFnet are done, so tomorrow you can read an exclusive new material. **

**Please, have a peek at both stories and don't forget to vote (or not) and rate (again, or not) :D**

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**Love you all,**

**kkolmakov**

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"The Gondorian? You are saying you had a dream about the Gondorian?" the King asked in a low raspy voice. Wren reined her temper, although it took a lot of effort.

"I am saying I had yet another dream of the same magic, and I had a vision of your son, who told me to take Amrod with us to the trip to Ered Mithrin. Apparently, in his world the Gondorian played an important role in securing your safety on a trip of the same kind."

The King was silent now, a distressed crinkle between his brows, fingers drumming on the elbow of the other arm. Wren wanted to tell him how ambiguous Dain's advice had been previously, how it would always leave her blind and unprepared, and how apprehensive she felt about it now, but she was exhausted and shaken by the conversation they had had, and the image of him standing above her with his hand raised would not abandon her mind. She shifted on her chair, wrapping her arms around her middle. She felt cold and slightly nauseous. By now she had realised that her physical state deteriorated extensively when she would not be close to the King and in accordance with him, her magic clearly affecting her state, but she was not going to give in.

"How are you going to convince him to go?" the King asked. "Will he accept payment in gold?"

"I need to talk to him. I do not know yet what arguments to use." Wren noted that the King did not doubt the validity of her vision.

"What had transpired between you two?" The King's question was curt and his tone grave. Wren felt like biting back that he had no right to ask. "Bofur and Dwalin mentioned he served to the Northmen Chief, and that he had saved you in the Mountains. You did not let him follow you, I reckon, but Dwalin said already then he had been possessive of you. He insulted me in the inn, in Dale..."

"As far as I remember he claimed he would be more appropriate person to take care of me." Wren could not help but quip. "That is hardly a direct insult to you. It seems more offensive towards me, as he is also treating me as property." The Dwarven King exhaled sharply, his nostrils flared, and Wren could see the muscles dance on his jaw. Clearly, the hint she weaved into her words had not stayed unnoticed.

"Wren..." the King started, but then he shook his head mournfully and stared at his hands, once again steepled, elbows on his knees.

"Thorin, I do not see much to discuss here. Both you and I know that my magic is not to be argued with. We need to go to Ered Mithrin, and we are to take Amrod with us. I say, I go to Dale tomorrow and talk to him. And before you say anything, I will take guards to accompany me, Dwalin perhaps..."

"I will go with you…" the King started.

"No, you will not," Wren interrupted him in a cold firm voice. "I need to speak to him myself. I previously considered him a random passer by in my destiny. Clearly I was wrong. Now it turns out he has a bigger role to play. I need to investigate."

Wren could see a storm of emotions raging underneath the King's composed exterior. Rage, jealousy, possessiveness were mixed with hurt and worry in his eyes, but Wren lifted her chin and waited for his answer. She was still anguished by his outburst. They needed to foster trust between them, even if it meant pain for the King. He had to learn to rely on her, and she had to be able to count on him. His features were dark, lips in a stern line, but after a few instants of grim hesitation he nodded.

Wren rose. The King got up as well, and Wren sighed.

"I will leave you now then," she mumbled, and he threw an astounded look at her.

"These are your rooms now, Wren."

"I think we both will sleep better if I return to my room." She knew it was a lie. The King had confessed he could not sleep, and she assumed he meant that the insomnia was caused by their discord. She also knew that she would be cold and feeling unwell alone in her bed, but she just could not summon how they could share a bed now. Were she to stay, they would lie with distance between their bodies, as she was hardly inclined to touch him now, which would provide no more repose than taking separate beds.

She quickly turned around and left. Through her walk through the passages, she searched her mind for doubt in the correctness of her decision, but found none. After placing more quilts over her covers, she curled in a ball in her bed and fell into restless, worrisome slumber.

* * *

The King did not join her at breakfast, and Lady Dis expressed her concern. Wren indeed was pale, deep purple shadows lying under her eyes. She tried to hide her unease from the Princess, but clearly failed.

"Are you faring well, Wren?" the Princess continued to inquire. "Is it the babe? Should we call the midwife?"

"No, no, it is not. I just... had very little sleep," Wren mumbled, and suddenly Lady Dis' face broke into a happy smile.

"Oh, and Thorin is still in his rooms. I forgot is it your _imrel fantêrâs, _honeymoon as Men call it, except the Khazad give the couple thirteen moons to celebrate their wedding," Lady Dis spoke with mischief in her voice and went as far as give out a small giggle, so strange when coming from the severe Dwarven dame.

Wren could not find in herself an ability to disappoint the Princess, so she just dropped her eyes to her plate, poking her mushroom omelette with a fork. Lady Dis proceeded reminiscing about her own _imrel fantêrâs, _obviously avoiding any sensual details. She recollected how happy she had been with her newlywed husband, and the visits to Ered Luin they had had at that time, the mines and forges they had visited. She then moved on to the memories of her parturiency, the topic she seemed to be unable to strive from in Wren's pregnancy. She was once again enthused, her eyes burnt, feverish blush on her cheeks, and Wren once again felt a prickle of worry. Even considering the Dwarven fanaticism towards their children, the Princess seemed almost frantic. She kept on making plans, ostentatious and grandiose, that included even what kind of furniture should be in the nursery, and where it should be put, as well as the child's diet and whether he or she would be ready for horse riding classes at the age of twenty. And Wren could not help but ask herself how much of it was the devotion of an aunt, and how much was the bereavement of a mother who had lost her sons.

When a courtier came to announce that Dwalin was in the parlour, ready to accompany Wren to Dale, she jumped up eagerly, quickly thanked Lady Dis for the company, and rushed out of the room. Warnings of the unpredictability of the weather and concerns about the quality of roads could still be heard behind Wren, when the courtier was closing the door.

* * *

Wren stepped out of the Front Gate, Dwalin and five guards behind her, and she pulled the hood over her head. With relief she breathed in fresh air, already smelling of snow, and she stuffed her hands into fur rimmed mittens.

They walked to the city, Wren lost in her thoughts, Dwarves talking between themselves quietly, and then Dwalin hasted and caught up with her.

"Are we meeting the Gondorian?" Dwalin asked grumpily, and Wren nodded. "Lippy fellow, hardly good enough to trust," he added, as if asking Wren why she would. Wren smiled a small smile and threw him a side glance from under her hood.

"He is important, Master Dwalin. I had a vision, we need him on the trip to Ered Mithrin. There might be an ambush. He will be there to protect the King."

"Thorin? The Gondorian to protect Thorin?" There was doubt laced into the Dwarf's tone, and Wren sighed and nodded again.

"I hardly understand it myself, and either of them would hardly enjoy this trip, but… The magic spoke." Wren felt a bit better after sharing her misgivings with someone, and she felt gratitude for the Dwarf's friendship. He was walking closer to her now.

"He will not like it, that is for certain," Dwalin grumbled under his breath.

"Thorin? Indeed, he was quite displeased."

"I meant the Gondorian. He had an eye for something that did not belong to him from the start." Apparently, even the solemn fierce warrior was prone to the famous Dwarven equivocacy. Wren sighed again. She was feeling quite tired of the mentionings of 'property' and 'belonging.'

"Perhaps, Thorin should just stay in the Mountain." Wren decided to share her idea with Dwalin. Somehow at the moment he seemed like the closest to a confidante she had. "This way he will be out of danger, and will not have to tolerate the company of the Gondorian."

"He will not agree. Not with his babe under your heart." Dwalin's answer was decisive, and Wren nodded mournfully. She knew there was little hope for any prudence from the King Under the Mountain.

It was close to tea time when they reached Dale, and Wren entered the same inn where she had said goodbye to the Gondorian. She was intending to ask around of him, but it was unnecessary. She found him sitting in the common room, in front of the fireplace, his legs perched high on the opposite bench, a pipe in his hand.

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**My blog: kolmakov dot ca **

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* * *

**My book on Amazon!**

**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

**{my first novel**

**inspired by the story initially written here}**

**Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

**_Summary:_**

_Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

_John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

_Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

_Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	93. Chapter 93

**Two chapters today for you, me lovelies :) This one is 1 out of 2. Reviews for each are highly appreciated :D**

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"Amrod..." Wren called him softly, and he turned. He then pulled his legs off the bench he had them perched on and got up.

"My lady." He gave her a wide mirthful smile and a low bow. "A pleasure to see you, as always."

Wren walked towards him, feeling that Dwalin and the Dwarves slowed down behind her, giving her privacy. She threw a short grateful look at the tattooed warrior over her shoulder, and he gave her a small nod. He then glared at the Gondorian and gestured the guards to join him at a table a few steps away from the fireplace.

Wren looked at Amrod. He was standing, smiling to her blissfully, his head slightly tilted, his eyes studying her. Some strange foreboding stirred in Wren's chest. He seemed so beautiful to her all of a sudden. Not attractive or alluring, not as a male, but a precious life, and soul, and will, and strength. She knew little of him, but just as Wren always believed that every life was sacred, she believed now that his was to be protected and cherished. Wren shook her head, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling, but it was stubbornly tugging at her heart.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you again, my lady? To be honest, I have not expected you to listen to my advice and seek me out." Wren took a deep breath in. "And something tells me," the Gondorian spoke, not letting her answer, "you have not changed your mind and I am not to accompany you back to Chief Beorn's village."

"No, you are not, honourable sir." Wren shook her head and sat down on the bench in front of his chair. "I came to hire you. I require your services as a ranger."

He sat back on his spot, his strong lithe body relaxed. Wren stared at her hands, clasped on her lap. She just could not summon why she was feeling she was lying to him.

"Pardon my surprise, my lady, but that is quite strange. You seemed to be adamant to never see me again the last time we spoke. And there are plenty of capable warriors in Erebor." She lifted her eyes and met his.

He had the most beautiful eyes, unusually dark, of the colour of very strong coffee, framed with long fluffy lashes. His features were noble, striking, strong distinct jawline, high cheekbones, and a very sensual full bottom lip.

A new sensation filled Wren. Although she had never felt that before, she suddenly was flooded with some bizarre semi-forgotten memories, as if from a dream, as if from before they had met in the house of the Skinchanger. She realised she was scrutinizing his features, and she dropped her gaze to her hands again.

"I am venturing into a trip to Ered Mithrin in two days, and I am apprehensive. I have not forgotten how you saved me in the Mountains, Amrod." Wren chewed on her bottom lip. "I owe you my life. And..." Every fibre of her soul was opposing to the next words, as if they were a lie, although they were not. She somehow felt as if she were luring him into a trap, and something inside her fought the words, but she gritted her teeth and muttered, "I would feel safer if you were on this journey with me."

"Oh..." He makes a soft noncommittal sound, and she looked at him. "Is that all that there is to it, my lady?" She could see in his eyes that he thought there was more. She wondered why she shared the opinion.

'For the King,' she ordered herself in her mind, 'Do it for Thorin.'

Wren nodded. There was a momentarily sharpness in the Ranger's eyes, his lips pressed into a stern line, and the eyes narrowed, but then his usual impish joviality was back.

"Well, then, my lady, let us discuss the remuneration."

* * *

After the conversation with the Ranger, and Wren was still feeling confused by how easily he had agreed on her request, Wren had a meal in the common room of the inn, in a private room, in the company of her guards, and then they walked back to the Mountain. By the time they arrived, the Sun was down, the air was chilled, and Wren went straight to her rooms. She climbed under her covers and furs, and took a small nap. No unusual dreams came, just some hazy images, reflecting her worries, mixed with memories of her travel over the Mountains.

She was woken up by her maid, who came to help Wren to change for the dinner with her Dwarven family, but Wren opted for a quiet evening with Thea in her parlours. It was a wise choice, as the winegirl's lively chatter was the best of distractions.

They were sitting in front of fire, eating honeyed fruit, when Wren suddenly blurted out, "I saw Amrod today. He is to join us on the trip to Ered Mithrin."

Thea froze with a prune in her hand lifted to her lips.

"Oh? Why is that?"

"I had a dream. I was told to take him with us." Wren frowned. "Except I cannot seem to shake off some sort of misgiving about it."

"Who would not have one, Wren?" Thea shook her head. "Considering that the last time your Dwarf and the Gondorian were in the same room, your fellow almost chopped Amrod's head off. Given Amrod was being very cocky, still… That is a glorious head there, and the boy does know how to use it..."

That reminded Wren of something she seemed to have forgotten.

"So you two… that day… Have you?.." Wren blushed and trailed away.

"Uh-huh," Thea agreed lightly. "He is good. One of the best I have had, to think of it." Thea's face grew thoughtful. "Once you are back from your trip, I should arrange another night. He has this one trick..." Thea was quite clearly intending to go into a detailed description, she even lifted her hand to no doubt mimic some gesture, so Wren frantically flailed her arms in the air.

"I do not want to know, Thea! Please!"

The winegirl laughed gleefully.

"Considering how tired you look in the mornings, my little bird, I would assume you do not need education in this area." Thea's tone was mischievous, and once again Wren chose to keep her current discord with the King to herself.

"Will you share at least some of the recollections with me?" Thea asked in a hopeful tone, and Wren shook her head. Her throat was constricted, and she shivered, her body feeling weakened, trembling slightly.

Thea laughed again, ignorant of Wren's discomfort, and went back to retelling the events of her day to Wren, who was trying to listen, all her will concentrate on keeping her composure. She surely did not want to start crying in front of her friend.

"And then we were in the Trading Chambers, where they bring the merchants from all over," Thea chattered on, "And I will tell you, my birdie, it felt nice. All the Dwarves showing respect to me, all the ladies-in-waiting fussing around me. You should have seen the merchants' faces. I reckon, they have not seen the Dwarves to pamper winegirls that way." Wren shortly thought that she would have been mortified and uncomfortable, were she in Thea's shoes. "So, I had a chat with this one merchant from Rohan, quite a dashing fellow… I hope he is still in Dale when I return there..." Thea clicked her tongue, clearly savouring the memories of the Rohirrim in her mind. "They do have trouble in their dealings with Dwarves. Did you know that they have the rule of 'asking twice' especially invented for the trade with the Dwarves?"

Wren threw her friend a confused look. Thea snickered.

"As much as I understood, Men feel they are so different from the Dwarves that they do not trust the negotiations, and even if it seems that something has been agreed on, they ask the second time. Especially if something was sort of implied, you know… The Dwarves must think us dim, but there have been apparently many times when Men thought something was a given, and Dwarven did not have the slightest idea..." Thea laughed gleefully and sank her teeth into a slice of a dried honeyed pear.

Wren sat petrified in front of her friend, thoughts swirling in her mind. She probably looked so pale that as unattentive as Thea was to the feelings of others, she put the fruit aside in worry.

"Wren, are you alright?"

"And I have married one," Wren breathed out and pressed her palms to her cheeks. "And our races do not understand each other..."

"Well, you clearly do understand each other. We have somehow negotiated the marriage and the babe," Thea tried to reassure, adding a jesting lilt to her voice, but Wren did not feel any better.

"And besides," Thea tried again, "The one you married had been dealing with Men for years, and travelled, he should be less stuck in their ways… Right?" Thea asked, and Wren nodded, without taking her hands off the face. The gesture was only to serve to pacify her friend. Wren herself felt no relief.

After a few instants of taking slow measured breaths in, Wren lowered her hands and gave her friend an insincere smile.

"I am sorry, I am just emotional. It is probably the parturiency..." Thea cringed with slight disgust, but to her credit she did try to hide her reaction. Wren smiled to her wider, but no less fakely. "We indeed have managed to find common ground. Tell me of your day some more."

Thea left after half an hour, and Wren sat on her bed, pulled her knees to her nose, and started thinking.

* * *

**My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

{two romance webserials, both inspired by my writing here}

**Facebook: Katya Kolmakov**

**JukePop: Katya Kolmakov**

{_Blind Carnival _initially written here &amp; _Ani _my first independent fantasy story}

**Twitter: katyakolmakov**

**Instagram: kkolmakov**

**Tumblr: kkolmakov-thorin-ff**

**Pinterest: Katya Kolmakov**

**DevianArt: kkolmakov**

* * *

**My book on Amazon!**

**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

**{my first novel**

**inspired by the story initially written here}**

**Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

**_Summary:_**

_Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

_John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

_Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

_Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	94. Chapter 94

**Two chapters today for you, me lovelies :) This one is 2 out of 2. Reviews for each are highly appreciated :D**

* * *

Wren knocked at the door, just like the night before, but this time it did not open. She stood in front of it, her heart beating painfully, a thump after another, somewhere in her throat. She waited a few minutes, and then knocked again. And then she placed her hand on the cold brass handle, her fingers shaking visibly. These were her rooms as well, he had said the night before. Wren pushed the door, just enough to slip inside, and she was once again in his parlour. The fire was out in the fireplace, the room was cold and dark. She momentarily thought of calling his name, but then she fisted her hands and walked through the chamber, to the door to his bedroom, in the opposite wall. She placed both her palms on it, closed her eyes, and holding her breath she gave it a sharp push.

"Wren?" his voice came from behind, and her eyes flew open. She twirled on her heels and stared at him. He had just entered the parlour behind her, the door to the passage closing behind him. She suddenly found the situation rather comical. Either would have been less awkward: him letting her in after her knocking, or her finding him in his bedroom. The second would be very intimate, but they were after all married. Meanwhile, right now it looked as if she were sneaking into his chambers with some dishonest motive.

He was still in his day clothes but his right hand was on the second clasp of his doublet, the top one having been opened already. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. He was silent as well. He was studying her, and she shifted between her feet.

The King sighed and walked through the parlour and stopped in front of her.

"Could I?.." he asked, pointing at the door she was blocking. She made several strange jerking movements, not sure which way she were to go, into the bedroom or back into the parlour, and he noticed, and she saw his lips twist in distress. She rushed into the bedroom, after making some mumbling noise, as if excusing herself, and he followed. He then passed by her, into a smaller room adjoint to the bedroom. He was taking off his doublet while walking, and before he disappeared around the corner, she caught a glimpse of his wide shoulders clad in a soft tunic. The intimacy of it struck Wren, to her utter surprise, since she had seen him in the state of much more profound undress. She chewed on her bottom lip, in acute unease, and then walked to the small desk in the corner. It was bare just like everything in the room.

Except for a small piece of parchment with a simple charcoal sketch of her face. Wren recognised the hand of the dwarf called Ori. She was depicted half turned in her profile, a small smile playing on her lips, soft curls lying on her shoulders. She recognised the do and the embroidery on the collar of the dress. The sketch was clearly portraying her in the attire she wore during the Welcoming Feast.

"He carries this large folder with him at all times." The King's voice made Wren jolt. She glanced and saw him standing leaning on the doorframe of his wardrobe. "We worked in the Library a few days after the Battle. Balin is looking for the maps of Khazad-dum, and Ori is assisting him. The lad dropped the folder, his papers scattered..." The King gave out a joyless chuckle. "I do not think he would assume his King stole one of his drawings and hid it under his doublet like an enamoured dimwit."

"Have the Elders given their answer?" Wren blurted out, and then she exhaled sharply in anguish. She realised how random her thinking must have seemed. It all made sense in her mind, but judging by slightly flabbergasted expression on the King's face, it hardly did to him.

"I am to have an audience with them tomorrow," the King answered, and then he shook his head mournfully and sat down on the edge of the bed. Wren studied his noble dignified profile.

"I did not understand!" Wren blurted another statement, immediately realising how abrupt it sounded to him. "I did not understand that I was to talk to them differently, that I was to wait for their answer. That threatening them and leaving would not have effect. I should have stayed and made them give me an answer." Wren wriggled her hands. She could sense she was not explaining it right.

"It is alright, Wren." The King turned to her, confusion in his features. He looked endlessly tired, and almost thinned, a drastic difference with the man she saw just two nights ago. "We have talked about it, remember? You and I. And besides, I finished the conversation with them then, and I will convince them, I promise."

"But do you not see? I did not understand!" Wren exclaimed, and he looked even more perplexed now.

"What are you about, Wren?"

"I am no Dwarf, I do not understand so much! And you!.. I think, I just do not understand you sometimes, and that is why it is so torturous." She was feeling more and more desperate. How was she to delegate what was now so clear to her? The King gave her a solemn look.

"That much we already know, Wren. We do not understand each other. Although I cannot say I expected you to consider being married to me... torturous." His voice wavered around the word.

Wren rushed to him and sat on the bed near him. She grasped his large hand between her two palms, and squeezed it.

"But do you not see?! Thorin, it does not have to be! We just have to accept it. That there are differences!.. And we just have to find ways! I know we can! I believe in us!" Her eyes roamed his face. He was frowning, his eyes cautious, but she did not back down. She after all did not expect him to change. They just had to find that very common ground she falsely claimed they had in her conversation with Thea. His brows twitched, a hardly noticeable gesture, and Wren cupped his face.

"We are of different races. We have had lives that were so dissimilar, and yours has been times longer than mine. And..." She searched for words. "And I am not the easiest woman to love." She gave him a small apologetic smile. "I make decisions that seem so radical to most. And I cannot even sometimes explain how I arrive to them. And my mind jumps..." She exhaled sharply, praying he would understand. "For example, I have heard what you said about the drawing. And it was so… beautiful! And I know… Thorin, please believe me, I know how difficult it is for you to confess of such things, and how significant it was, and you tried to tell me so much by it, and I am flattered, and the fact that you have my portrait on the desk…" She searched his eyes, he was still giving her a guarded look. There was slight embarrassment colouring his features, and she leaned in and pressed her forehead to his. "I know..."

He sighed quietly, and she felt him move tentatively, and one of the large hands lay on her waist. There was something endlessly endearing in the uncertainty of his gesture, there was vulnerability in it, and Wren felt tears roll onto her eyes.

"I just needed to let you know… That I understand our differences now. So I spoke of the Elders. And, Thorin, I will be wiser now…" she whispered, and then she lunged ahead, wrapping her arms around his neck. "We will be alright. We will be, I promise you." Her tone was firm, and the voice did not tremble.

"You do not have to be the only one," the King sounded pained. His body was still rigid in her arms. "I am making no less mistakes. I almost… I still cannot believe that I raised my hand… I was so jealous, it was madness..." His voice broke, and she felt him shudder.

Wren moved away, but picked up his hand again. Even just from touching the scorching calloused palm, she was feeling better. The disgusting shard of ice that she seemed to have had in her chest since the visit with the Elders was melting, and nausea was subsiding.

"If I ask you to stay in Erebor and let me travel to Ered Mithrin with Amrod, Dwalin and a large company of guards, will you agree?" Wren asked, and he did not manage to suppress a grimace that immediately distorted his features.

"Wren..." His tone was not angry, though, but begging. "You cannot ask it of me. I could not..." She could see the agony he was in, and she nodded.

"Because of Amrod?" she asked.

"No, of course not." The King shook his head vigorously. "Once I had some time to think of it, I realised that my jealousy was nothing but insanity… And the story with your dreams of our... son will be a good lesson to me. I cannot say I grew to like the Gondorian," the King noted sarcastically, "but it is not him. Wren, you are with child! My child! And I just cannot… It is as much as a physical torture to even think of letting you go without me."

"I did not realise that! You see?" Wren made a forceful gesture with one hand, still clasping his fingers in the other. "Not until Dwalin said it. I just thought you were being imperious."

They sat in silence for a few instants. And then she felt his thumb brush at her knuckles, in an almost unnoticeable tender gesture. She had a sudden absurd thought that she had forgotten his caresses. She raised her eyes and saw him give her a questioning look. She moved towards him, he responded in kind, pulling her closer, while she grabbed his shoulders and pressed into him.

"Will you stay tonight?" the King asked quietly, and Wren took a shaking breath in. Tension was leaving her body, delicious warmth spreading through her nerves and limbs.

"What do you mean if I will stay?" Wren asked, adding soft mischief into her tone. "These are my rooms."

He chuckled, the same uncertainty mixed with relief in his tone as could be heard in Wren's.

"Indeed, they are." He moved away, still keeping her in the ring of his arms. He smiled to her, and she returned the expression. "All mine is yours now."

She wanted to say she needed nothing but his heart, and his love, and his trust, but then the newly acquired wisdom reminded her she was married to a Dwarf. Whether it mattered to her or not, it did to him. So, she nodded and moved into a kiss. It was chaste and emotional, and Wren sighed contently into the King's lips.

One hand at the back of her head, another around her waist, every gesture familiar and dear to her, he deepened the kiss, and Wren arched into him. They were quickly veering from the tenderness of reconciliation towards passionate fire, and Wren rejoiced. She was the one who pushed the King on the bed, while he still seemed content with just heated caresses, and he chuckled, and grabbed her around her waist, and pulled her after him into the covers and sheets.

* * *

**My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

{two romance webserials, both inspired by my writing here}

**Facebook: Katya Kolmakov**

**JukePop: Katya Kolmakov**

{_Blind Carnival _initially written here &amp; _Ani _my first independent fantasy story}

**Twitter: katyakolmakov**

**Instagram: kkolmakov**

**Tumblr: kkolmakov-thorin-ff**

**Pinterest: Katya Kolmakov**

**DevianArt: kkolmakov**

* * *

**My book on Amazon!**

**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

**{my first novel**

**inspired by the story initially written here}**

**Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

**_Summary:_**

_Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

_John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

_Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

_Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	95. Chapter 95

**A/N: My darlings, my interview with Minerva Magazine (minervamag dot com) is now available online, under Insight section. Have a peek if you are curious :) The ladies in charge of it are brill, it's geek and feminist, and all sorts of fun.**

**Thank you, my lovelies, for reading and reviewing! You make writing worthwhile!**

**Love,**

**kkolmakov**

* * *

"Are there any guards left in Erebor, my lord?" Wren asked cheekily, looking over the procession of Dwarves waiting for her by the Front Gate. Full armour, shining breast plates, there was at least a dozen of warriors gathered around a small sturdy wagon, prepared for her. Wren threw a teasing look at the King. He was quite dashing in his brigandine and fur collared coat, and she suppressed a fawning sigh. "Would you like to also tie a few pillows around me, my King? So I fully feel like a glass vase."

The King stepped to her and leaned in to her ear. His breath brushed at the lobe, and the ear immediately burnt.

"If you continue your frolics, my insolent Queen, I will pick you up, throw you over my shoulder, and carry you all the way to Ered Mithrin, your delicious backside up." His hot whisper seemed to scorch her skin, sensual shivers ran down her spine, and she looked at him, her lips parting in arousal and surprise. He chuckled and then quickly leaned in and pecked her lips. She blushed.

"Your warriors are watching, my King," she hissed at him, as if cautioning. To be honest, she was more concerned with regaining her composure and taking her libidinous thoughts under control, than being seen kissing the King. They were after all wed and enjoying their honeymoon.

"They delicately averted their eyes," the King smirked lopsidedly and kissed her again. This time the buss was longer and even more inappropriate.

"And the Gondorian?" Wren asked breathily, remembering of Amrod. He had arrived to Erebor in the morning, and was standing not too far, waiting for the Dwarves to be ready to start the journey.

"I could not care less," the King answered, and his arm snaked around her waist in a clear intention of pulling her closer. Wren battered his hand away and stepped back from him.

"Maiar help, I have no sense around you..." she mumbled, and he smiled very smugly. She threw him a feigned exasperated look, only to receive a grin in return.

* * *

They had spent the last two days in bed. The King had left it once, to look into preparations for the trip, while Wren slept exhausted after another bout of physical love. He returned quickly, and slid under covers, and wrapped around her. Through the two days they enjoyed each other, again and again, ate in bed, talked of everything and nothing in particular. Wren had never known such joyous light days before. They reminisced about their childhoods, the King told her of his many travels and she of her service. They spoke of nonsense, of what food they liked, and what toys they had had as younglings, and of the gravest things, holding each other tightly, their voices hushed. The King spoke of the Quest of Erebor, and recollected the Battle of Five Armies, and Wren stilled and quieted, and listened to him. His voice was low and emotional, but there was no darkness in it. Wren told him of her young years and the woes she had encountered in her path, and then they spoke openly of the time she was on the quest to help him. Wren felt the time for sincerity and openness came, and she hid nothing.

They laughed, they played her favourite chess, only to topple the board over and find each other's lips again. They kissed, and touched, and loved each other, to full satiety, and then again. They spoke of their son, the one Wren saw in her dreams, and she finally shared her apprehension and her doubt with the King. And then they spoke of the babe she carried under her heart, and with a tremble in his voice the King asked if Wren would accept the name of Thror for her first born, and Wren said she would consider it an honour.

One, and only one thought tarnished Wren's utter bliss. She threw a look at the Gondorian, who stood under a large ash tree, absorbed in an amicable conversation with the Captain of the Guard. Thanks to his easy manner and friendly personality, the Gondorian seemed to evoke cordiality in most he met. Only the King and Dwalin seemed to be resisting his charms.

Wren just could not shake the thought that she was lying to the Gondorian. More so, she felt she was luring him into a trap, and in order to do so she felt she had called upon his mysterious affection towards her. She did not know its nature, they had never discussed those dreams he claimed to have had of her, but somehow she had known from the start he would not refuse her and join them on that trip.

The night before Wren had shared her misgivings with the King, leaving her curiosity over Amrod's dreams to herself, but expressing her concern for the safety of both of them on this journey. The King was adamant she worried needlessly. He reminded her that everything she said to Amrod was true, that indeed he was on that trip to ensure everyone's safety, and after all a possibility of an ambush was indeed not from the realm of impossible. He attempted to reassure her that most likely they would travel without any peril, the number of warriors and the presence of a warrior from Men should discourage any Orcs, even if they were to lurk around, to attack them. Wren was not convinced, and she nested into the King's embrace sighing deeply. He was stroking her hair, murmuring in Khuzdul. Their conversation then changed its subject, leaving Wren uneasy.

Wren's wagon was to be pulled by two stout ponies, while the Dwarves and the Man were to travel by foot. She insisted to at least start the journey walking herself. The King grumbled and huffed air during the early breakfast they were having.

"My lord, I am no invalid or sick. I am expecting, but I am healthy and capable, and exercise and fresh air are only beneficial for the babe. At least while the roads are safe, I will walk." She patted his hand on the table pacifyingly, and he mumbled something into his coffee but did not object.

It took much more convincing and argueing to calm the worries of Lady Dis. She did not dispute Wren's magic and the necessity of travelling, but it was clear she was concerned. Wren felt exhausted after the conversation with the Princess, mostly as she had tried so industriously not to disclose what she and the King suspected. If indeed the wonder babes in Ered Mithrin were the King's nephews reborn, the matter was to be approached in the most delicate manner. Wren could not imagine what lady Dis were to feel or do if that were true.

* * *

And now they were finally on the road. Wren walked shoulder to shoulder to the King, the road being wide enough to allow it. There were guards in front of them and behind, Dwalin stomping right behind Wren's shoulder. The Gondorian walked the last, right after the wagon, and Wren could hear him converse with one of the guards.

"Ushaktul..." The King gently touched her sleeve, and she looked at him. "The guards of Mirkwood will be expecting us at the edge of the woods. I have informed the Elvenking by the letter, and do I gather it right you wish to spend only a day in his Halls?" It was clear by the King's tone that even that little time in King Thranduil's Halls did not seem as an appealing prospect to him.

"Aye," Wren nodded. "Perhaps, on our way back we could spend more, if indeed King Thranduil were to be able to aid me in harnessing my magic. But on the way there, I would only stay a day. I feel we need to haste to see the babes." The King nodded.

"Have you considered practicing?" the King asked all of a sudden, and Wren threw him a surprised look.

"Practicing?"

"Well, I saw you utilise your magic as a weapon. Any weapon needs practiced hand."

"But I have no control over it!" Wren exclaimed, still keeping her voice down. She threw a careful look, but the guards seemed to be out of earreach. "It flares up on its own accord, and only in connection with you and my emotions. It is like my blush. I have no power over it!" The King chuckled and threw her an impish side glance. Wren felt like sticking her tongue at him, but surely Queens did not behave thusly.

"I know little of magic, ushaktul. But I know of learning dexterity. You start small. Learn the weapon. Do not haste." His voice was warm and soft, and Wren took a calming breath in. Everything seemed so much simpler when he was giving her a supportive look and the tips of his fingers brushed hers as if by accident. They both wore gloves, and yet she felt her digits tingle.

"I will give it a thought," she muttered. "It terrifies me, though. What if it..." Wren did not find words and just splayed her fingers in the air, mimicking a firing blast.

"It clearly knows who the enemy is, ushaktul. I doubt it will harm me or the warriors."

"It singed your braid!" Wren hissed, and the King gave out a fruity guffaw.

"If the memory serves me right, you were quite discontented with me then. You seem to be more partial to me now," he rumbled, and bumped his shoulder to hers. Wren rolled her eyes in a feigned exasperation. She then pondered the King's words.

"Start small, learn your weapon and no haste?" she repeated, and the King gave her a small smile. "Perhaps… I could give it a try. Tonight," Wren decisively stated. "I will try tonight. Once we camp. But I will need your help. It is clearly linked to you, and it would be easier..."

"Of course, ushaktul. Just as in any sparring, you will need the right partner." Wren smiled to him, and with some new bounce to her step, she continued her travel.

* * *

**My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

{two romance webserials, both inspired by my writing here}

**Facebook: Katya Kolmakov**

**JukePop: Katya Kolmakov**

{_Blind Carnival _initially written here &amp; _Ani _my first independent fantasy story}

**Twitter: katyakolmakov**

**Instagram: kkolmakov**

**Tumblr: kkolmakov-thorin-ff**

**Pinterest: Katya Kolmakov**

**DevianArt: kkolmakov**

* * *

**My book on Amazon!**

**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

**{my first novel**

**inspired by the story initially written here}**

**Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

**_Summary:_**

_Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

_John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

_Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

_Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	96. Chapter 96

**A/N: Dear ****ChizomenoHime**** and other ****readers asking about Wren's magic****:**

**in all other timelines/versions of Middle Earth Wren, she doesn't have control over her magic. **

**Wren1 could only make sparkles and shake goblets, except for those few cases when the magic would flare up and save Thorin (the first battle, then once in the swamps (see "Her Magic" chapter in the story "Wren"), then she once killed a warg when expecting Unna). Alright, there was also 'using the magic ribbons in bedroom' part, but we will omit it here, since this story is T rated :P **

**Wren2 can only hear unborn children in their mothers' wombs. **

**Filegethiel, again, saved the King with her magic but had none afterwards.**

**This Wren had no previous magic since Thorin was to be dead and it had no purpose. Now, that it manifested, she might become the only Wren who will master and utilise her magic. Or not :P **

**Thank you for reading and reviewing, and feel free to ask questions! I do love to chat ;)**

* * *

At the end of the first day, the second half of which Wren spent in her wagon, reading her books, and sometimes chatting with the King and the guards with the flap of the wagon bonnet moved aside, they set camp on the hill, in the ruins of some ancient guard post. The fire was crackling cozily, a large circle of light surrounding it, the dinner was generous, a hearty stew with autumnal tube vegetables, and Wren was feeling sleepy and sated. She had not noticed how she started leaning onto the King's side, and only when her head lay on his shoulder she realised how drowsy she was.

The King carefully supported her with his hand, and then he moved her slightly aside and got up. He was standing, his hand stretched to her, and she placed her fingers in it, lifting her brows in confusion.

"The training, my lady. You wished to train after dinner," the King reminded her, soft smile on his lips.

Aside from feeling tired and enjoying the physical and emotional comfort of the King's company, self doubt was what also made Wren hesitate. She had almost no control over the golden glow, and she was, speaking frankly, quite intimidated by it. She bit into her bottom lip in doubt, but encouraged by the warmth in his eyes she rose and followed him onto the side of the clearing their camp was occupying. She noticed that the warriors continued their conversation as if nothing was happening, only Amrod's eyes were on her.

The King stood her in front of him, and having pulled off his gloves he picked up her hands. Wren gave him a confused look. He seemed to be expecting something from her.

"Can you evoke it?" the King asked.

"No, I have told you before, it just... flares up."

"But do you sense it in you now?" The King searched her eyes.

"Aye, but it is faint, somewhere in my veins. It is constant now, since the day in Dale... But it is only when I fear for you, or I am upset that it acts..." Wren gave the King a shy smile. "I am not upset now."

And just an instant after she realised that there was some sort of tension in the King's features, a large body lunged at him, from behind. All Wren saw was a short blade flash in the air, and her hands flew up, and the golden ribbons blasted out of her palms.

Amrod had flown back, taking the hit of her magic into his chest. He fell on his backside, still moving backwards, away from the King, burrowing the ground, and then his spine met a tree. Wren stood for a moment, her eyes widened in panic, but then she stepped ahead, fisting her hands, feeling rage rising in her chest.

"Stop, Wren!" The King was behind her in a blink of an eye, his arms wrapping around her middle.

The Gondorian groaned and stirred.

"I have to say, honourable King, though the idea was mine, I am starting to see it was of the moronic kind." Amrod leaned on one side, supporting himself on one arm, and rubbed his lower back with another hand.

"What?.." Wren breathed out, and the golden ribbons died out in the air with a hiss.

"I expected another singed cloak. That was surprising and to be honest quite sensitive," Amrod grumbled, rolled on his side, and then got up, slightly swaying. "The headache is especially nasty. It seems to have hit the chest, but the whole body is in frenzy."

Wren twisted out of the King's arms and turned meeting his eyes.

"What is this?" she hissed in rage. "Are you playing me? And together with him, of all people!" She pointed at the Gondorian without looking at him.

"Your magic clearly dislikes him, ushaktul." The King lifted his hands in a pacifying gesture. "We assumed it would work best with him rather than one of the guards."

"It is not my magic that dislikes him. It is me!"

"Well, that stings..." The Gondorian jested at the background. Wren twirled on her heels and pinned him down with a glare.

"You propositioned me then, and you were making decisions for me! That was when I singed your cloak! I do not appreciate to be pushed around, treated like property, and especially I do not appreciate to be manipulated! I disliked you for that, Gondorian! I have no opinion on you as a person!" By the end of her speech her voice was loud, and she made a few steps towards him, when the King's soft voice called for her.

"Ushaktul, your hands..."

She looked down and saw the glow once again slithering around her tightly clenched fists. She looked at the King again.

"And you, my lord, if you value your braids that are so important for your people, I suggest you never do that again!" She lifted her hand and pointed her index finger right into the tip of his long nose, and a sparkle jumped at the tip of her digit, with a loud pop, making both men jump up.

Wren puffed some air out and stomped away from them, to her wagon, where furs and covers were arranged for her into a comfortable sleeping spot. The last thing she heard was the Gondorian's merry voice.

"Well, that surely could have gone better. But at least all limbs are in place."

* * *

Wren slept well, although it took her a while to fall asleep. She tossed and turned, in indignation, and would come up with more and more derisive things to say to the two men. Among other things, she felt that they had endangered Amrod for erroneous reasons. It had been clear that she would be able to use her magic instinctively protecting the King. She needed to learn to control it when she did not feel threatened or irritated or protective towards her husband.

She woke up in the morning, and realised that the wagon was already moving. She apparently felt so safe in it that she had slept through the awakening of the camp, breakfast, and the beginning of their second day of travel. She lay stubbornly keeping silent, her arms crossed on her chest, staring at the ceiling of the bonnet, but then she realised how childish her behaviour was. And besides, she was starving. She pulled on her boots, the only thing she had taken off at night, straightened out the mithril mail she wore, and crawled towards the flap.

"I would suggest trying again, honourable Dwarven King..." The mischievous joyous voice of the Gondorian came from behind the wall of the wagon. "But I am not the one who would have to face a furious wife after that, and the one with magical ability to tear off your head, for that matter."

Wren expected an enraged reaction from the King for such insolence and familiarity, but to her shock all she heard was a quiet rumbly chuckle.

"Would that not serve to your advantage, Gondorian?" the King asked sarcastically, though, there was no true malice in his tone. "My head would fall, and she would be in your care." Amrod laughed merrily.

"I have fully accepted my defeat, honourable King. You are clearly a better man here."

"It is not my victory, Gondorian," the King corrected light-heartedly. "I have done nothing to win her. It was her choice, and hers alone. It was just my fortune."

"Was dying in a battle part of that luck?" the Gondorian laughed softly. The King joined him. Wren was frozen on all four, listening to their conversation in astoundment.

"That all leaves just one question, Amrod, son of Mablung." The King's velvet voice grew serious. "Why are you on this journey?"

"She asked me," Amrod answered simply.

"She asked you? You hope for nothing from her now, you have said so yourself. Why come?" Suspicion still seeped into the King's tone, but it did not seem to affect the Gondorian.

"I have. But it means not I would disregard her request. As I told you before, I have seen her in my dreams, but I see now she is not my Alfirin. She never will be her, to be precise. She chose otherwise, and our future is never to come. But our destinies are intertwined, and I will do as she asks." The men grew silent, and Wren sat down, pondering what she had heard.

"And now I will follow her advice, and will use this tragic story to charm women and entertain men while drinking excessively," Amrod went back to his impish frolics, shaking off the seriousness of the previous few minutes. "I bet few have ever heard of a Man losing his love to a Dwarf."

Wren bit into her bottom lip, this time trying to rein her giggling, and waited for the King's response.

"That is only because the Dwarves do not consider women of other races as a potential beloved. We would have stolen many more hearts, if we decided to."

That was the end of Wren's composure, and she laughed loudly.

"Good morning, ushaktul," the King's low voice, flirtatious smirk laced into it, made her heart flutter, and she stuck her head from under the flap. His face was close, and she quickly pressed her lips to his cheek. She still remembered of propriety, so she controlled herself, but she just could not help but snatch a caress.

"Good morning," she answered, and he searched her eyes, probably trying to determine her mood. She wanted to frown, but she felt no irritation. "I am famished," she blurted out, and one black brow cocked up in a clear innuendo. She smacked his shoulder, giving him a feigned disapproving look.

She threw a look and saw Amrod already falling behind the wagon, already engaging into a conversation with one of the guards. Wren felt calmer after overhearing the conversation, but still, a nagging premonition was worrying her heart. She pursed her lips and prayed for them to reach Mirkwood as soon as possible. Perhaps, she could seek advice from King Thranduil. As little as she enjoyed his stance towards her magic after the battle, he had been honest and direct with her while she had been on her quest. If not for some clarification, she was hoping for at least pacifying her mind in a conversation with him.

* * *

**My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

{two romance webserials, both inspired by my writing here}

**Facebook: Katya Kolmakov**

**JukePop: Katya Kolmakov**

{_Blind Carnival _initially written here &amp; _Ani _my first independent fantasy story}

**Twitter: katyakolmakov**

**Instagram: kkolmakov**

**Tumblr: kkolmakov-thorin-ff**

**Pinterest: Katya Kolmakov**

**DevianArt: kkolmakov**

* * *

**My book on Amazon!**

**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

**{my first novel**

**inspired by the story initially written here}**

**Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

**_Summary:_**

_Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

_John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

_Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

_Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	97. Chapter 97

**PLEASE READ THE AUTHOR'S NOTES (and excuse the lengthiness :D)**

* * *

**A/N#1: I will be in Toronto at the ****Word On The Street Festival Book Fair****, ****Sunday, September 27th****. Come and find me in ****Booth #101**** if you have a chance! Tell me we are FanFiction mates and get a 50% discount off **_**Convince Me the Winter Is Over **_**paperback!**

* * *

**A/N#2: Are you my friend on Facebook? Do you follow me on Twitter and Instagram? After I come back from the fair, I will be having a ****giveaway**** of my book and will be making an announcement about a new project of mine! Follow me to stay tuned!**

* * *

**A/N#3: **_**Blind Carnival **_**on my JukePop has received quite a few updates recently and will get more today and on Monday (I will have to update it from the road, but I am enjoying the story so much that I'll be sniffing out WiFi on gas stations :D) Starting Chapter 10, the text there is exclusive, never previously posted, and I am hoping for your feedback, my darlings! Please, comment!**

* * *

**A/N#4: My dear readers, and especially those writing themselves, please look at the reviews to this story. ****killthepain62** **made a disturbing announcement there, it's worth your attention!**

* * *

**Thank you for your attention!**

**Love,**

**Katya Kolmakov**

* * *

Wren walked most of the second day of the travel, at the end of which they were to arrive to Mirkwood. The King kept on hasting the company, trying to reach the Elvenking Halls by the dark. Considering the animosity Wren knew the King harboured towards King Thranduil, she understood how preoccupied he was with ensuring their safety. She walked near him, throwing looks at him from time to time.

"Something on your mind, ushaktul?" He gave her a small smile.

"I was wondering about King Thranduil. I know of the history between the Kingdoms, and the barrel escape..." Wren snorted after seeing the King roll his eyes. The gesture was uncharacteristic and clearly was made for the sake of her entertainment. She moved closer to him and brushed her hand to his. "And yet you do not object to our going to him for help. How aggravating do you find it?"

"If you are asking if I am jealous of him, then the answer is immensely."

Wren dug her heels into the ground, and the King had to turn around to look at her as she was frozen on her spot.

"Ushaktul?"

"I was not asking of jealousy at all!" Wren flailed her hands in the air. "I meant us taking shelter in his Halls. Why would you be jealous?!"

"You expect him to help you with your magic," the King answered simply.

"Which is connected to you, and you alone! And of course, he might be able to, he is of magic himself, and an Elf, and has lived for so long... He has mentioned knowing something of the men who had the similar gift, and it seems those men were my grandfather's compatriots."

"I know the reasons behind it, my heart," the King said pacifyingly. "I am just being, as you called it, 'a brute' and... I do not trust the wood whimp." Wren gave the King a long look pondering his words. She felt slightly irked, but there was slightly apologetic expression in his eyes, and she sighed.

"Is it again something very Dwarven and possessive, and you understand it and do not plan to act upon it?" she asked carefully, and the King chuckled.

"I could not have explained it better myself, my heart."

Wren would have rolled her eyes as well, but she was busy sorting out her thoughts. She started walking again, and the King measured his steps to hers.

"I am certain you and Amrod chose the wrong path to waken my magic." Wren's tone was grumpy.

"That much was clear," the King nodded and then gave out a small chuckle. "I cannot say I did not enjoy the consequences, though..." Wren threw him a warning look, and he pressed his lips hiding a smile.

"Thorin!.. It was dangerous! I could have harmed him."

"I do not think so, ushaktul. You have little control over it, but it is clearly not mindless."

Wren sighed again. She felt she was missing something rather simple, but crucial. As if she could just stretch her hand and brush the tips of her fingers to it, but then that one single cue would escape her. Wren rubbed her forehead with the heel of her hand.

"Thorin, it is this fleeting sensation, I cannot even describe it, but... as if there were to be a key, and I would just unlock it, and..."

The King hummed agreeing. He said nothing, but indeed there was nothing to say.

* * *

By midday the weather grew colder, and Wren could see descending snow clouds on the horizon. She went inside her wagon, pulled off her boots, wrapped furs and covers around herself, and opened her book on her lap.

She could not quite concentrate on her reading. She leaned back on the wall of the wagon, her fingers absent mindedly fidgeting with a tussle on one of the quilts. She felt frustrated. How was she to wield her magic if she could even call upon it? It was as if a sword were stuck in its scabbard. Wren closed her eyes and tried to envision the golden globe. She lifted her hand and fisted it, attempting to elicit at least one sparkle out of her palm. Nothing came out of it, of course. Wren huffed air out, and... then her eyes flew open.

She was no warrior. The thought was as simple as day. She was a healer; she was carrying compassion in her heart and a child under it; she was in love. Of course, she could not wield the magic. As it was no weapon.

Wren scrambled and stuck her head out of the flap.

"Thorin," she called loudly, and the King sped up and caught up with the wagon.

"What is it, ushaktul?" His face was coloured with worry.

"Could you please climb in to me for a bit?" she whispered. "I just had this thought, and I think it might work..." The King gave her an odd look, but then he shook his head.

"Ushaktul, it is hardly the time..." His voice was slightly raspy, and Wren laughed loudly.

"And yet you have considered it for a moment, my libidinous King." She quickly looked around making sure no one was watching and tapped her finger to the tip of his nose. "But I was suggesting no lechery, my King. I have had an idea regarding my magic."

The King cocked a brow and then threw some command in Khuzdul to the captain of the guard. The Dwarf's face grew surprised, but he quickly schooled it in respectful obedience. The King grabbed the edge of the wagon and easily threw his large body inside. Wren ordered herself to stop ogling him but it yielded no result. He was so alluring!

"What is it, my heart?"

Wren sat down and pointed at the covers in front of her.

"Could you please sit?" she asked shyly, and his brows twitched but then he obeyed. She crossed her legs, he did as well, and then she pulled gloves off his hands. He was watching her in surprised amusement.

Wren then picked up his hands, they lay heavily onto her palms, he compliantly let her, and his eyes were shining softly. Wren closed her eyes again, sudden clarity and serenity flooding her. Her mind stirred, in faint agitation, but she brought her thoughts down onto the sensation of his scorching skin pressed to hers.

_The magic was given to her..._

_No, it was born in her, with her, for her, to become and to be who she was now. _

_Wren from Enedwaith._

_The healer._

_The wife. The mother. The Queen._

She could feel some sort of acceptance and harmony growing in her, from finding herself and from allowing herself to be that person.

Warmth, love, compassion, strength, she had learnt herself on her quest, and it had not been the quest to help the King. All her life was the quest, and she was continuing it.

"Wren..." the King breathed out, and Wren smiled without opening her eyes.

"Is there the glow?" she asked, already knowing the answer. She could feel the balm and the sensation of power rush through her body, and she could sense some sort of force between their hands.

"Aye..." Thorin's voice was reverent, and she slowly opened her eye.

A large golden flower was blooming, around their locked hands, like a bright glowing chrysanthemum.

Wren suddenly laughed loudly and carelessly. The King sat with his eyes open wide, lips parted slightly.

"Do you know how they call a garden flower that blooms this way?" Wren asked, and the King shook his head, his eyes glued to the flaming bloom.

"How?" he rasped out.

"The King's Pleasure." Wren giggled, and Thorin threw her a disbelieving look. While he was clearly struck by the awe towards her gift, piety and admiration clearly displayed in his features, Wren felt light and happy.

Wren released his hands, and lifted her right one, and opened a palm level to her and the King's eyes. The flower travelled onto her palm, shrinking to the size of it, and then it opened wider, each petal brilliant, and the bloom fluttered and the ribbons moved as if in a graceful dance following the movements of Wren's fingers.

"Abnam..." the King whispered in Dwarven tongue, without taking his eyes off the bloom. "Most beautiful… Just like you..."

Wren smiled widely and closed her palm. The flower folded its petals and then melted into the air.

She opened her mouth to explain her revelation, but the King lunged at her, toppling her down, his lips on hers, and she moaned into his mouth, her arms went around his neck, her body arching into his. He kissed, and pressed her into him, mumbling feverishly in Khuzdul, and Wren yielded into his passion, and love, and fealty.

* * *

**My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

{two romance webserials, both inspired by my writing here}

**Facebook: Katya Kolmakov**

**JukePop: Katya Kolmakov**

{_Blind Carnival _initially written here &amp; _Ani _my first independent fantasy story}

**Twitter: katyakolmakov**

**Instagram: kkolmakov**

**Tumblr: kkolmakov-thorin-ff**

**Pinterest: Katya Kolmakov**

**DevianArt: kkolmakov**

* * *

**My book on Amazon!**

**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

**{my first novel**

**inspired by the story initially written here}**

**Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

**_Summary:_**

_Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

_John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

_Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

_Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	98. Chapter 98

**A/N#1: I'm back from the trip to the book fair! My head is full of ideas, and my schedule even seems rather promising! To the world of FanFiction and beyond! :P**

* * *

**A/N#2: ****My dearies****, please check out ****my blog (kolmakov dot ca)**** for summary of my ongoing projects and my plans. Your input is highly appreciated, and hopefully you might find something else of mine you'd like to check out *nudge nudge wink wink***

* * *

**A/N#3: BIG FAVOUR TO ASK:**

**If you read my book **_**Convince Me the Winter Is Over**_**, please leave a review BOTH on Amazon and Goodreads for it. The number of reviews changes a book's rating on Amazon, and it gets suggested to more readers. Thank you in advance, my duckies!**

* * *

**Love you all ardently!**

**Yours truly (and enjoying it immensely),**

**kkolmakov**

* * *

They arrived to the Elvenking Halls after darkness had fallen on the greenwood the Great. After a bath and having changed into a dress she shrewdly had packed out of the attires Lady Dis' mistresses had fashioned for her, Wren joined King Thorin and King Thranduil in a small dining room for a meal. She looked around the room and noted Amrod's absence. Apparently, he was considered equal to their guards. Wren pursed her lips in irritation. Her parentage was even simpler than his, and she did not think her marriage to the Dwarven King was supposed to change it. Nonetheless, she graciously took her place to the right hand from her husband, on the other end of a long table from King Thranduil.

The meal started in silence, and Wren wondered which way it would proceed. There was an equal chance, it seemed, for an unpleasant confrontation to originate out of the tension reigning over the table. Alternatively, the men could arrive to the understanding of how little reason they had for animosity these days. After all, if King Thorin managed to befriend Amrod, surely some sort of amicability could be reached between the two allied monarchs.

The dishes were replaced, with the second course, and both men were still silent. Wren threw a side glance first at one, and then another. And then she looked at her husband again. He screwed her eyes at her, and suddenly she saw his lips twitch. The preposterous Dwarf was hiding a smile! More so, to her shock Wren then saw his shoulders shake, almost unnoticeably. He had the most beautiful whole body laughter, which he apparently was currently struggling to suppress.

"I am pleased you feel merry in my house, honourable King of the Dwarves." King Thranduil's voice was even and impassive, and only Wren's overall sensitivity allowed her to detect the hint of sarcasm in it.

"I do indeed." The sardonic note in King Thorin's voice was much more pronounced. "I am grateful for your hospitality and for your generosity towards myself…" He held the pause of just the most perfect length and continued, "...and my wife. In her expectant state we are twice as happy to find shelter here."

Wren froze with her fork mid air. As enraged as she immediately was by his proprietary claim and inappropriate flaunting of their private circumstances, she had to give him credit for the complete nonchalance and the efficaciousness of his delivery. His jab was as precise and efficient as a thrust of a Dwarven dagger.

Wren could see that as little as the Elvenking was prone to and willing to show if he were affected by someone's words, he nonetheless could not hide his astoundment. His face, perfect in its cold beauty and as if etched in marble, wavered, and his eyes darted between Wren and the Dwarven King.

Wren pointedly put down her fork and delicately wiped the corners of her lips with a napkin. She felt it was time to assert her positions.

"We are indeed immensely grateful, my lord," she pronounced decorously, giving the Elvenking a benign smile. "After all, you know how much your woods call for me. I feel so at ease here, so peaceful… Sometimes I wish I could spend my whole parturiency in these woods..." Wren gave out a long wistful sigh, and had the pleasure of hearing the Dwarven King choke on the wine he was smugly drinking from his goblet. "And of course, we should not forget that we came here seeking your advice regarding my magic. After all, no one knows more about it than you, my lord," Wren as much as sing-songed, her lilt accompanied by King Thorin's coughing at the background, and the Elvenking staring at her without blinking.

"I would think you are the person to know most, honourable lady." King Thranduil sounded almost as placid as always, but there was a minuscule falter in his words.

"Indeed, my heart." King Thorin seemingly managed to recover from his choking bout, at least partially. "Have you not willed a golden glowing flower to life on your palm just a few hours ago?"

The blonde head of the Elvenking whipped towards his Dwarven opponent, and then back at Wren, who took a calming breath in.

"I have, but that is just the beginning," she spoke with feigned nonchalance. "I am certain after a few lessons with King Thranduil I will become much more proficient."

"Just do not singe his garments, my heart," the King quipped back, and Wren met his eyes. She was certain that the strange mixture of irritation and amusement dancing in his irises could be seen in hers as well.

"And I believe that is time for me to repose," King Thranduil suddenly deadpanned and got up. Wren was not certain whether the haste in his gestures was only the fruit of her imagination, or indeed there was some underlying jerkiness in his usually fluid movements.

Thorin gave him a mannered tilted nod, and the Elvenking bestowed them both with a bow and a promise to see them at breakfast after which they were to have a conversation about Wren's magic. His long legs carried the King of the Woodelves out of the room, the long silver train of his garb dragging behind him.

Silence hung above the table, and then Wren and Thorin burst into laughter at the same time. And a few instants after Wren crumbled her napkin and threw it into the King's face. He made a funny snorting noise and battered the cloth away.

"That is not funny!" Wren cried out, contrary to her own words shaking in merriment. "That was utterly inappropriate, and you are..."

"A brute and a barbarian," the King supplied, interrupting her, and grinned widely. "I am aware, my heart. But tell me you did not enjoy his unease..." A lopsided smirk replaced the smile on his lips, and Wren puffed air out.

"You had no right to parade our happiness in front of him, Thorin." Wren added some disapproval to her tone. "I understand your feelings, but he is a widower, and even on my Quest I had faced his grief. It will never ebb, Thorin, do not forget. He is immortal, and so is his torment."

The King frowned slightly, and Wren understood he had not given it much thought previously.

"Perhaps, I overindulged," the King finally admitted begrudgingly, and Wren cocked one brow. She felt his remorse was insufficient. She was full of regret herself. She felt immense sympathy to the Elvenking, and yet she had allowed her husband to pull her into his game.

And still, there was something endlessly entertaining in the haughty Elvenking fleeing from their marital bickering.

* * *

Later that night, after Wren's belongings were moved from a room she had been given upon their arrival, to a bedroom they now shared, Wren settled on her husband's chest, the tips of her fingers absentmindedly drawing meaningless swirls on his muscles under a silk undertunic.

"Being in danger of sounding maudlin," she muttered and nuzzled the solid muscles, "I keep on comparing my previous stay here, with what is happening now..."

The King shifted and started running his fingers through her hair lazily.

"I truly hope you do feel differently now. I would be alarmed, my heart, if you did not notice a Dwarf in your bed this time."

Wren snorted and rose on one elbow to see his face. She loved him like this, his features relaxed, warm smile dancing on the lips and in the blue irises. She loved all of him, any facet of his personality she had encountered, though sometimes she could not help but feel frustrated with him. She would remind herself then of their differences and of her own decision to face them and to overcome them. He was easy to love at the moment, though, seemingly endlessly content and tranquil. She leaned in and placed a feature like kiss on his lips. He returned the caress unhurriedly.

"Last time I was so overtaxed, my nerves were so strained here… I felt that no one believed me, and no one wished to help. And then we had this ridiculous conversation with King Thranduil where I let slip that I thought you would be a better King for Erebor than Dain Ironfoot, and he corrected me saying you would _have _been a better King. And would have chosen a better Queen." Wren slightly blushed from her conceited words and searched her husband's face.

He gave her a soft, somewhat teasing smile.

"Well, I have to concede then that his ridiculous, twig decorated head is not that empty perhaps..."

"Thorin!" Wren hissed and quickly covered his mouth with her hand. "The forest is alive. Anything said here will probably be known by the King in an instant."

Thorin shook his head, releasing his mouth from under her palm, and then quickly kissed her hand.

"You are painting quite an indecent picture, my heart. That is quite a perverted taste you attribute to our host. Do you truly think everything taking place in these halls becomes known to the King? " The thick black brows wiggled, and a scorching palm lay on Wren's buttock. She blushed even more furiously, and hastily pushed the hand off herself.

"I am not intending to risk it, Thorin," she pronounced and pointed her finger at his nose. "And you will behave!"

"Or will I?" the King purred, and then both hands were splayed on her middle, and he rolled her underneath him.

"Thorin!" she squeaked and started wiggling trying to break free. Quickly realising the futility of her attempts, she switched tactics, and her fingers ran his ribs. He made the already familiar loud snorting sounds, and rolled away on the bed, trying to escape the torturous tickling. Wren jumped at him and pressed her hands into his chest.

"One kiss, and we are reposing, my lord. I feel we need to endeavour for propriety tonight. And I need rest." She gave him a feigned strict glare, and he put his hands near his head, on the pillow, mimicking a surrender gesture.

"As you wish, my Queen."

Wren knew of course his sudden obedience was not to be trusted, but she leaned in and caught his mouth, only to realise her mistake when it was too late. His hands roamed her body, and the buss was so sweet that she had no will to resist him.

* * *

**My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

{two romance webserials, both inspired by my writing here}

**Facebook: Katya Kolmakov**

**JukePop: Katya Kolmakov**

{_Blind Carnival _initially written here &amp; _Ani _my first independent fantasy story}

**Twitter: katyakolmakov**

**Instagram: kkolmakov**

**Tumblr: kkolmakov-thorin-ff**

**Pinterest: Katya Kolmakov**

**DevianArt: kkolmakov**

* * *

**My book on Amazon!**

**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

**{my first novel**

**inspired by the story initially written here}**

**Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

**_Summary:_**

_Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

_John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

_Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

_Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	99. Chapter 99

**A/N: Chapter 99! My, oh my, how time flies! Thank you all for being with me on this journey! **

**The next one will be an anniversary one! Let me know what you would like to see in it.**

**I still have a few plolines to give closure to (Fili and Kili, Amrod, Bilbo) before this story is done. Let me know if I'm forgetting anything.**

**And then to **_**Letters to Your Heart, Axes to Your Scabbard**_**!**

* * *

**A/N#2: I have set up a **** page**** for myself. Feel free to check it out! I've just posted a welcome video, and tomorrow there will be plenty of new, exclusive material there. **

**It's a donation site where you can become my Patron for as little as $1 and get access to exclusive materials.**

* * *

**That doesn't change anything in terms of my writing, my duckies! **

_**Ani **_**will be updated on JukePop on Mondays, just as before; **_**Blind Carnival **_**on Thursdays (tomorrow is 's official launch, and there will be a video with the discussion of the stories), and I'll be posting a re-edited chapter of **_**Dr. T Series **_**(former **_**Touch the Nerve **_**Series from this page) on my blog every Saturday. **

**I will continue writing my fanfiction and posting short stories on my blog.**

* * *

**Thank you for reading and being such awesome, supportive readers! **

**Love you all,**

**kkolmakov (Katya Kolmakov)**

* * *

"Many Springs ago..." King Thranduil's mesmerising voice filled the small drawing room they were sitting in, and Wren found her husband's hand under the low oval table they occupied. "Men from far away arrived to Middle Earth. It was the time before the destruction of Numenor. The men from the West came in strange ships, round sided and deep, oars and sail red... Just as red was their hair."

The Elvenking shifted his gaze, and Wren suppressed the urge to touch her fiery locks to see if they had escaped her do. They had of course, she could never keep them under control, and it seemed that in her parturiency she had twice as much.

"The men spoke a strange throaty tongue, both harsh and melodic," King Thranduil continued. "They were fine warriors, their shields were round and swords wide and short. They told us of islands they lived on, an archipelago far away. They were tradesmen and mercenaries, and their intentions were hard to construe. At the time the Eldar considered these men and deemed them dangerous and untrustworthy. Tentative trade was offered to them, but at the same time the might of the Men and the Elves of Middle Earth was made known to them. The captains of the two main ships then explained to those they spoke to that they had been lost at sea and hardly intended to ever take this path again, since the journey from their lands, which they called Rodhina, to Middle Earth was too perilous." The Elvenking grew silent, his eyes distant, and Wren held her breath.

"Did they stay?" the Dwarven King asked, his voice calm and almost disinterested. At the same time he gently pressed Wren's fingers in his hand, and she took an easier breath in.

"They did." King Thranduil focused his remarkable blue eyes on King Thorin. "They stayed for as long as it took them to repair their ships and prepare supplies. In the time they spoke with us telling of their world and their magic."

"You spoke to them yourself?" Wren exclaimed, her voice raspy from agitation, and the King gave her a nod.

"There is a lot in your face from them, Wren of Enedwaith. The copper hair, the profile, the maculas on your pale skin."

"But if none of them stayed behind..." the Dwarven King started, and Wren moved on her chair in discomfort. Both Kings turned to her, having caught her movement, and she sighed.

"I am not the descendant of those men. There had been another ship… My grandmother told me of a man who fathered her daughter, my mother," Wren spoke grudgingly, and sighed again. "He was found on the shores of Enedwaith, the only survivour from a giant ship, the debris of which had been scattered on the beach." Wren paused, and then finished under her breath, "He married her sister, but had no children with his wife... And my mother had nothing from him, she was tall and blonde, just as all of her siblings, but they say traits often skip a generation..."

"Magic quite often does." King Thranduil's voice was almost amused. Wren lifted her face and met his eyes. "The men from the West claimed then that they had the most amazing of magic, the one that allowed their Kings to not fear death in a combat."

Wren gasped, her eyes widening.

"How did it work?" King Thorin asked, and received a small smirk from the Elvenking.

"They did not explain it fully then, honourable King of the Dwarves of Erebor. They only said that their magic was stronger and purer than ours, as it came from the land itself and grew in the heart of ones who loved." It was clear that King Thranduil did not quite agree with such evaluation, but Wren had no desire to address his centuries old sensitivities.

"But I had not known King Thorin before my visions started! How could I have been..." She choked on her words, the phrase 'in love' freezing on her lips, and the Elvenking smirked to her this time.

"Perhaps you had known him. In some other life and some other world..."

Wren thought back at the words of the one called Dain in her dreams, of how he was her son, but his father lived in the Battle of the Five Armies and how the Wren who was to bring Dain into the world had quite a different destiny. Perhaps, that was what allowed Wren's magic save King Thorin even before her heart felt the ardent love for him that filled her now.

"Did they also have the golden glow?" King Thorin asked. He had been quiet for a few moments before speaking, and Wren was almost certain he had been thinking back at what she told him of her dreams about Dain. They had spoken openly in the few days before this journey, and it was Wren's turn to squeeze his hand comfortingly.

"That I know not," King Thranduil answered, and then he rose and walked to the window. "I have to admit, we felt rather doubtful towards the words of the men of the West. They were meretricious, fond of ale and starting fracas, and their attitudes towards women were quite... frivolous."

Wren suddenly clearly imagined those red-haired men, merry and loud, making advances towards cold and reserved Elven maidens, and somehow the picture seemed rather entertaining to her. She tried to hide her inappropriate frolics behind a loud cough, and then she pressed a goblet with water to her lips. Something told her she did not deceive her conversation companions, at least her spouse was clearly aware of her merriment. He threw her an impish glance from the corner of his eye, and cocked a brow at a whimsical angle, which only prolonged her pretense drinking.

"They had mentioned how the wondrous resurrection of their King was to take place, though," King Thranduil turned to face the royal couple of Erebor, and Wren hastily put the goblet down, straightening her back, like an eager pupil. Her obedience did not deceive anyone though, and King Thranduil pursed his lips in slight irritation.

"And?.." King Thorin encouraged him.

"They mentioned that the spirit of the fallen King was to be preserved in the dreams of the one to love him most."

Wren slowly turned and looked at King Thorin. He returned her gaze, small warm smile appearing on his lips, and Wren slightly blushed but then throwing propriety aside she leaned in and pressed her lips to his in a short chaste kiss.

She moved away, wondering if at the background the Elvenking had wrinkled his perfect nose, but when she looked at him, his face was serene and unreadable.

"So, had my magic had anything to do with the destruction of the Arkenstone and the resurrection of King Thorin?" Wren was still trying to piece it together, and King Thranduil walked back to the table and sat gracefully, throwing one leg over another.

"I believe it allowed you to have the dreams, but as the legend states the Arkenstone was the Heart of the Mountain. By returning it to the pith of the Lonely Mountain, you set in motion the ancient mechanism, the Kings of Erebor, the heirs of Durin returning to life."

"But not Fili or Kili..." King Thorin grumbled, and Wren's heart clenched.

"They have never been Kings, honourable son of Thrain," King Thranduil stated almost lazily.

Wren once again grabbed her husband's hand, this time openly, and sought his eyes. She hoped he could see in her eyes that she felt hopeful regarding the destination of their journey. She made a note to herself to tell him that the closer they were to Ered Mithrin, the more certain she felt that the two babes were part of her quest. She could not pronounce it even in her head, who she thought they were, or even who they had been, but her confidence grew with each day. The twin children were linked to the magic of the Arkenstone and the consequences of it.

Wren could see the Dwarven King inhaling slowly and discreetly, reining his emotions, and then he returned the gentle pressure of Wren's fingers.

"How much control over your glow do you have now, Filegethiel?" King Thranduil asked, but his seemingly disinterested tone did not deceive Wren.

She remembered how he had offered her to stay in his forest when she travelled through it on her quest, and how after the battle in Dale he once again invited her to his Halls, as if a curiosity he could study and entertain himself with. She felt no chagrin towards him, but not much affection either. She could imagine how in different circumstances, or even perhaps, using his own words, in another world, she could have sought shelter in his woods, perhaps in an attempt to escape some distress, perhaps even distraught by her life in the Mountain. She could imagine how having less openness and understanding in a marriage to a Dwarf could lead her to seeking consolation in the Halls of the Elvenking, among his people, and even perhaps in his company, but Wren suddenly understood that she, Wren of Enedwaith, the Wren of now and here, did not need it.

She smiled and pronounced in a light confident tone, "I believe I have all control over my magic that I need." Wren felt King Thorin's fingers twitch, and she smiled even wider. "I am willing to let it take its course. Something tells me it will grow stronger as my parturiency progresses, and I believe my aptitude in it will grow as well. I have everything I need to master the glow. After all, as you said, the men of the West claimed that it comes from the land and from the heart, and my heart belongs to Erebor."

Wren kept her chin high, and she met King Thranduil's eyes. She thought she saw emotions splash in them, for a fracture of a second, and then he tilted his head, as if searching for something in her features.

"You are a wonder, Filegethiel."

"I very much am not," Wren laughed. "As it turns out all my talents are limited to sleeping deeply and loving no less deeply. And that is no rarity. I believe any healthy person should endeavour to do both more often."

Wren heard a warm chuckle rumble in King Thorin's chest, and King Thranduil studied her a bit longer, and then he rose, gave them both a small bow, clearly stating the visit was over, and Wren and her husband rose, returned the bow, and walked back to their rooms.

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**A/N: Men of the West, a.k.a. the Westerners… They live in Rodhina and have red sails and are cheery gingers? See what I did there? :P **

**No? Then you clearly haven't read my story **_**Ani **_**on JukePop. I personally think it was a stroke of genius to link my two worlds, but you judge for yourself :P**

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**My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

{two romance webserials, both inspired by my writing here}

**Facebook: Katya Kolmakov**

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{_Blind Carnival _initially written here &amp; _Ani _my first independent fantasy story}

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**My book on Amazon!**

**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

**{my first novel**

**inspired by the story initially written here}**

**Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

**_Summary:_**

_Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

_John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

_Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

_Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	100. Chapter 100

**A/N: The hundredth chapter! And by request from ****ChizomenoHime**** and several others, this chapter is all about a certain ranger :)**

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**A/N#2: And upon reader R.'s request (as a thank you for pre-ordering my novel on Amazon), in a few days, please, find a chapter in **_**For You, My Beloved Reader**_** that tells of Amrod's life and love after the events of **_**Me Without You**_**. And yes, of course he lived this time. Everybody lives! *in the voice of the Ninth Doctor* (Well, most lived… I'm trying here, alright? :D)**

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After the midday meal, while the two Kings were discussing the provision and the guard for the next leg of Wren and King Thorin's journey, Wren walked out of the rooms and took a small wall around the Elvenking Halls. She was feeling serene and content, and she suspected that the Kings' constant attempts to best each other could cause her, given only mild, irritation. Indeed, a stroll in the mesmerizing halls of the Greenwood the Great was a much more pleasant idea.

She found Amrod on a tall, railingless balcony, in a company of a few Elves, of both genders. There was a rather loud, lively conversation, and it was not hard to guess who was in the center of it. By the time, Wren stepped on it, Amrod had just delivered an obvious punch line of a joke, and roaring laughter rolled under the somber roof of Mirkwood.

Wren stopped on the edge of the balcony, and all eyes were on her. "I apologise for the interruption," she mumbled embarrassed, and a few voices reassured her she had not. Wren discreetly exhaled in relief, she quite enjoyed the even amicability the Elves treated her with. She expected the future to bring her a different attitude towards her from others, especially Men and Dwarves. So far, she could just feel grateful for being treated as equal and a welcome guest.

Wren stayed in the circle for another hour, listening to Amrod's stories of his travels, and to the Elves singing and chatting. She noticed the looks the Elven maidens were throwing Amrod, and she hid a smile. She could see how he - with his impressive height, brilliant dark eyes, and silken strands of coffee coloured hair - would entice a woman of any race.

Soon, sadly, one by one the Elves had to leave to continue their errands, and Wren and the Gondorian were left alone. He sat on a bench, his long legs stretched in front of him, in his habitual relaxed position. Wren threw a look at him, and cleared her throat not knowing how to breach the subject she felt she had to talk about.

"You are awfully quiet, my lady." The Gondorian chuckled. "I cannot say you are a tweety bird on a usual day, but you are making me nervous."

"I am worried for you," Wren blurted out, and he tilted the head, encouraging her to speak. Wren sighed. She had been agonising over her suspicion that her dream visitor, the one called Dain, had been if not lying, than at least hiding some of the truth. "I am worried what this travel will bring upon you..." Wren shifted on the bench. Unlike Amrod, she could not say the furniture in Mirkwood suit her. Her feet did not reach the ground, a trouble she never encountered in Erebor.

"It is a travel like any other, my lady. There are dangers, but I am being well paid." The Gondorian winked to her and took a large sip from a goblet with wine he had been sharing with the Elves.

"How much do you believe in prophetic dreams, Amrod?" Wren asked, and saw him slowly lower the cup.

"Have you had any, my lady?" he asked, and immediately remembered whom he was talking to. He theatrically thumped himself to the forehead with the heel of his palm, and Wren giggled.

"One or two," she answered, and he barked a short laughter.

"Way to make a fool out of myself." He laughed some more. She had known it of him by now, he enjoyed a good joke even if it was at his expense. "But I did not mean the magical dreams that dragged you all around Middle-Earth and landed you a husband and a kingdom, though... Have you had one with an omen for me?"

Wren watched his face. He did not seemed discouraged by such assumption, and she thought that she quite clearly did not understand him. Wren was still searching for words, when the Gondorian chuckled and made a wide gesture with his goblet.

"I will tell you of my dreams, and then you will return the favour. How is that?" the Gondorian offered, and Wren's eyes flew to his face in astonishment. He was smiling to her warmly, and she nodded. She had not wished to know his dreams then, in the Northmen village, when everything seemed so hopeless and nothing but pain and loneliness seemed to be in the books for her. These days, she was certain in where she stood and where she was going. She knew her life now ran the right course, and nothing could deter her.

"Since I was a boy I had dreams of a life that I was certain I would have. A life with you." The words were simple and his tone was even, but Wren gasped in shock. The Gondorian was looking somewhere at the distance. "There was a simple house, and an ash tree near it, with swings on a low thick branch. Three… I saw three children, a son, my firstborn, and two girls..." Amrod smiled, and Wren could not take a breath in. Her arms wrapped around her middle without her will. "When I pulled you out of the snow drift in the Mountains," Amrod spoke softly, turning and looking at her, "I could not believe my eyes. I never thought… I had quite a different picture of you, Wren. I expected a joyous, lively traveller, a free soul, just like me, not a frightened broken girl. Not a girl who would cry and scream in agony in her delirium..." Wren felt tears roll over her eyes. How hopeless and dark those times were for her! Amrod smiled to her softly and stretched his hand to her face. He did not touch her though, jerking his hand back. "I offered to wait for you then, and I was honest, Alfirin..." He stumbled over the moniker, and shook his head decisively. "That is not your name. It never will be. More so, it never could have been yours. I thought that had he not lived, you could have been mine, but now I see… You could never have been mine."

He paused, once again looking at something she could not see, and Wren waited, holding her breath.

"I had another dream, my lady. I was in Dale, a few days after that battle, where you showed your magic. And I saw a different life for us. A life where you chose me, over the King Under the Mountain… You chose me and my children, and the house, and the ash tree… And they never came." Amrod's face wavered, in a pained grimace, so strange on his always merry face. And then he schooled it back into a calm expression. "Even without him, you never became Alfirin. We had a daughter in that dream…. A red haired girl, so much alike you. And somehow in my dream I knew she would never be mine. She would still be his… Love him, belong to him..." Muscles played on Amrod's jaw, and then he turned and met Wren's eyes. "Those dreams I had of you, my lady, they were not to come true. You are his. And he is yours. I just do not know why they were given to me..."

"Perhaps, you were a test to me, just like all those other I encountered on my path," Wren blurted out, and then blushed furiously. " Forgive me! I did not wish to diminish your life to being just an obstacle in my journey, but..."

Amrod laughed. "Worry not, my lady, I am quite used to being just a bright episode in a woman's life." Wren peered at him attentively, but did not find any pretense in his merriment.

"Amrod, I truly believe that I am also just an episode in your life. Some day you will look back at your dreams and at encounters with me, and it will all make sense."

"Perhaps." Amrod agreed lightly, and Wren inhaled gathering her courage.

"I had a dream of a man who claimed to be my future son from King Thorin. He warned me that we might encounter an ambush on this journey, and you are to be there to save the King's life. And yet..." Wren chewed at her bottom lip. "He had been dishonest with me before. He had deceived me, or disclosed only parts of truth, trying to influence my decisions and my actions. I have a strange premonition… I fear for you." Wren frowned and gave Amrod a pained look. "I worry that the price you will have to pay for the King's life will be too high."

"As in I would give mine instead?" Amrod asked, keeping their eyes locked, and Wren nodded gravely. Amrod kept silent for a few instants and then he spoke, "My lady, that is what I am being paid for. For risking my life. That is the duty of a soldier. To fight and, if necessary, to die for a King."

"But you do not have to!" Wren exclaimed. "He is not your King! And he should have just stayed in the Mountain, and the danger would not come..."

"And let his expectant wife travel alone in the Orc infested lands?" Amrod chuckled. "I could expect that from a Man. A Dwarf? Never in a thousand years. And to think of it, a decent Man would not either."

Wren wriggled her fingers.

"It is very noble of you, my lady. To tell me this and risk me running for my life and perhaps endangering your King." Amrod pronounced slowly, and Wren bit into her bottom lip painfully.

"I just could not… lie to you… lure you into a trap. What kind of person would I be if I did?" Wren's voice broke, and she dropped her eyes to the floor.

"Indeed..." Amrod drew out, and then he chuckled warmly. "I will continue on this trip with you, my lady. Death is a sister of a fight. She will come when it is my time. I will just sleep worse and put extra armour this time." He patted his stomach, only covered with a thin tunic, and Wren continued frowning.

"Oh, do cheer up, my lady." The Ranger laughed and jumped up on his feet. "I understand it is all tangled and complicated in that wonderful head of yours, but it is very simple for me. I could die, or I could live and get generously paid. And then I will die another day." He looked down at her and then bend in a low dramatic bow. "And I thank you for your sincerity, oh the Flower of the North. I value it, though I think it unnecessary. You think too much of what could happen. I will just think of staying alive." He bowed again, and left, whistling a merry tune.

Wren sat on the bench, frowning and fidgeting with an end of her belt, but after a while she understood nothing would come of her endless rumination, and she decided to follow the Ranger's advice and to think less.

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**Final A/N: Please, consider supporting me on (Katya Kolmakov). You can donate as little as $1 and make me a happy Earl Grey drinker :) Cheers, my lovelies!**


	101. Chapter 101

**A/N: ****Thank you**** for all your kind reviews and for your support through the hundred of chapters! **

**I hope you will stay some more :) and hope some other of my stories might be to your liking.**

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**A/N#2: This chapter might be painfully familiar to those who read **_**Thorin's Defeat**_**, and all I can say is my usual "do you trust me?" :)**

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**A/N#3: ****My darlings****, please consider supporting me on ********. You can donate as little as $1 a week, and I could pick up a couple fewer shifts in my bakery. I do my writing at night these days, and today I almost fell asleep near the bread oven. Seriously, it was so warm and cozy :) **

**Becoming a Patron gives you the access to some ****exclusive content**** as well. This week it's a teaser to a new version of Wren and John/Thorin, which I'm very excited about. You can see the cover on my facebook page. It's called **_**T**__**hea Martin's Patented 5 Step Method to Seduce the Man of Your Dreams**_**. It'll be fun :D**

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The clamour of the fight and clashing of blades woke Wren up, on the second day of travelling, when she lay in her wagon for a midday nap. Wren stuck her head from under the flap of the bonnet, and saw the King, his Elven blade already slashing through the attackers a few steps away, while five Dwarven guards encircle the wagon.

Blades were clashing around, Dwarves, Elves, and the Man screaming, their battle cries mixing with snarling of Orcs, and Wren quickly evaluated the fracas around her. The forces were approximately even, due to numerous Dwarven guards and several Elves that King Thranduil had sent to travel with them to Ered Mithrin. Wren was surprised to see how multiple their attackers were, though. Orc packs were rarely that large, and then she understood that they obviously belonged to two groups. The crude markings on their armour were of two distinct clans. Something must have made them unite, which was rarity on its own.

Half of the assailants were smaller, darker, probably the trackers, the Snufflers, while the rest were Uruks, large and more reminiscent of Men in their build. The banners they had on them differed, but their goal seemed to be the same. They were determinedly attacking the Dwarven guard with fierceness and vengefulness, while they were clearly unprepared to the presence of the Elves and a well-trained Man with his long two-handed sword.

The largest Uruk stepped ahead, out of the crowd of his soldiers, and Wren felt mortified.

"Oakenshield!" he snarled, and suddenly threw a look at the wagon. His beady eyes ran over her red hair, and he smirked. She heard the rough throaty consonants of Blackspeech. "Come out or I will taste the sweet blood of your woman!"

Wren turned and saw the King spinning in one of his terrifying swirls, several Orcs falling on the ground, the wide heavy blade of Orcrist slashing their monstrous bodies. The guards surrounding the wagon locked their shoulders, when another wave of the enemies spilled on the campsite from the opposing bushes. Wren twisted her head and saw Amrod's green cloak swoosh between the Orcs and the spot where the wagon stopped.

He was still holding his bow in his hands, and Wren saw three Orcs on the ground, his arrows having pierced their right eyes. He threw the bow aside, and the long narrow sword glistened in the midday Sun. He was swift, and the first Orc choked on his own black blood. Amrod pulled the blade out of his throat and lunged in a long graceful move, low and deadly, and two more fell on the ground.

And then Wren saw the King surrounded by Orcs, his broad heavy body gaining momentum, and two heads rolled on the ground at the same time. Dwarven guards seemed to realize the intentions of the enemy, they rushed towards the King, and suddenly one of the three closest to the wagon stumbled, a short black arrow sticking out between the gorget and the helmet.

"Archers!" Wren heard the Dwarven captain's scream, and a few Elves rushed to the bushes. Wren could hear the ruckus there, and then the guards near her clashed their swords with five Orcs.

Two Orcs pierced the Dwarven line of defense, and Wren jumped out of the wagon, an instant before a wide Orc sword broke through the canvas of the wagon's bonnet with a deafening noise.

Wren had a sword, of course, the same Dwarven blade that belonged to the Dwarven King when he was a child and that she carried with her into the Battle in Dale, but she had little merit with a blade. An Orc caught it with his hand in a metal gauntlet and threw her backwards. She braced herself, concentrating on not losing the sword, and rolled on the ground.

"Amrod!" She heard the King's booming voice. "Protect her!"

One of the Dwarven guards was convulsing on the grass, red blood gushing out of a large laceration on his shoulder. Wren knelt, rolled him over, and pressed his cloak into the wound.

The fight continued, and while her body went through the familiar movements of a healer, she realised that they had equal chances of surviving or dying tonight. Most of the Orcs were attacking the Dwarves, while the Man and the Elves were left aside. Orcs only fought them if they had to. Wren realised that such must have been their orders, and she searched for the tall Uruk with her eyes. He was fighting two Elven warriors, and he was winning. The first one stumbled, the wide crude sword sinking deeply into his shoulder, going under a terrifying angle into his chest. The second one managed to bestow the monster with a heavy blow, before another Orc cut him down under his knees.

Amrod was suddenly near her, and he grabbed her upper arm.

"Alfirin! We need to leave! They want you because you are his wife!" He started dragging her to the side of the clearing, she was weakly fighting not wishing to leave the King behind, but then Amrod had to let go of her to block the attack of two more Orcs.

The King's blade went through two Orc torsos, and he turned to Wren and Amrod. Wren saw blood colouring his brigandine of the right shoulder.

"Get her away!"

Something shifted in Wren's mind, and she rushed to him, screaming. Amrod caught her across her middle, and she was fighting him furiously. "Let me go! Let me back to him!"

The Orc leader snarled something, and a few more assailants rushed to her.

"Let me go! I will not leave him!"

Wren watched in terror two more Orcs attacking the King at the same time, and he blocked, but the sword of the third one fell on his shoulder, and he stumbled. Wren screamed at the top of your lungs.

Amrod turned to look, and she pushed him away and dashed towards her husband, when a white hot pain pierces her shoulder. She stumbled and fell on her knees. An Orc arrow was sticking out of her deltopectoral muscle, and she jerked it out. The back of the wide arrowhead opened the wound wider, but with a cold professionalism she calculated that the shock from the pain would allow her to fight longer. She had about ten minutes before the blood loss and the pain overwhelmed her.

"Alfirin!"

She got up on her feet and stepped towards the ruckus around the King, several Orcs in a tight ring around him. Amrod rushed to her again and grabbed her unwounded shoulder, and she looked him in the face. There was panic in his features.

"Please, Alfirin, please!.." he begged, but she jerked her shoulder out of his grip. She turned to run to the King, and suddenly Amrod lunged at her and pressed his strong fingers into the wound on her shoulder. She wailed and sagged on the ground, strength leaving her body with the scarlet blood spilling on the ground. Amrod picked her up in his arms and passed her limp body to one of the Elven guards.

He then dashed and cut through the ring of enemies around the King. Wren watched the bloodshed, throaty screams and moans of pain rising into the dark sky, and finally there were but a few Orcs left, Dwarves and the Man pushing them back in accord. Her mind worked fast, certainty growing in her. Wren saw the King turn to look at her, and then the chief Uruk pushed the two Dwarves fighting him away, and his sword slid under the hem of the King's brigandine and into his thigh.

The King fell on his knees, his weight supported on one of his arms. He lifted Orcrist and blocked the next crushing blow. The King was on the ground, his blood rushing from the wound. And at the moment, when the Orc sword was being lifted above his head, Wren realised that other warriors did not see yet, and she understood she would be the only one to see the defeat and the demise of the King Under the Mountain.

Wren twisted out of the arms of the Elven warrior, and fell on the ground, in a strange nimble action, which she did not expect herself. She was on her feet an instant later, and her hands flew up in the air.

The golden ribbons bloomed out of her palms, born somewhere in her heart and underneath it, in the small but strongly beating heart of her firstborn, and the glow burst around her, not in soft waves from before, but in terrifying tongues of flame, as if snarled in bloodthirsty fury. They raced and raged around her, slaying enemies, tearing Orc bodies, even those already fallen, black blood pouring onto the dirt under the feet, and Wren straightened up. The magic rushed to her shoulder, in a buzzing spurt, and she felt the wound close, and then in one focused terrifying impulse the golden force rushed and pierced the body of the Orc leader, through his heart, and lungs, and stomach, the ends of the ribbons sharp as daggers, widening each wound, tearing flesh.

He fell on the ground like a ragdoll, his torso a disgusting mesh, and Wren watched his unseeing eyes stare into the sky.

Amrod slid along the ground in a smooth plunge, his sword entering the body of the last standing Orc, previously fighting shoulder to shoulder to the Uruk, through the vulnerable spot under his breast plate, into the lungs. The wail of the monster carried across the clearing.

Wren lowered her hands and rushed to the King, noting the lack of pain in her shoulder. She dropped on the knees in front of him, and he grabbed her and pressed into him.

"Thorin, I need to see the thigh..." she started, and he growled and pushed her away, still holding her healthy shoulder, his fingers painfully digging into it. He held her at the arm length and looked her over with burning, feverish eyes.

"You are wounded! I saw the arrow!" he roared, and she started shaking her head. "And then babe! Wren, will it harm the babe?!"

"No, no, it is alright!" She had to raise her voice to be heard over his panicked hollering. She cupped his face, while he was trying to twist it out of her grip. "Thorin, listen to me! I am unscathered. The magic protected the babe and the wound is healed. Look!"

She slightly turned showing him the shoulder. The King looked down. Wren jerked the torn shoulder of her doublet and tunic aside, showing him the even skin. There was not even a scar. The King's jaw dropped ungracefully.

"And now let me see your thigh," Wren ordered, and he was still staring at her, obedient and limp.

"I have only one thing to say..." Amrod's merry voice came from above, and Wren quickly looked at the Gondorian, who was standing leaning tiredly on his long sword. Blood and dirt smeared over his face, he was smiling widely, white teeth gleaming in the evening Sun. "You are wasting your silver paying me, honourable King. You do not need a guard. Just unleash your wife onto your enemy and stand aside smoking some pipeweed."

Wren snorted and went back to examining the King's leg.

* * *

****PLEASE, CONSIDER SUPPORTING THE AUTHOR ON DOT COM!****

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**My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

{two romance webserials, both inspired by my writing here}

**Facebook: Katya Kolmakov**

**JukePop: Katya Kolmakov**

{_Blind Carnival _initially written here &amp; _Ani _my first independent fantasy story}

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**My book on Amazon!**

**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

**{my first novel**

**inspired by the story initially written here}**

**Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

**_Summary:_**

_Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

_John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

_Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

_Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	102. Chapter 102

**Firstly, some news, my darlings:**

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* * *

They quickly made funeral pyres for the fallen guard, while the bodies of the Orcs were piled in a heap. Wren stepped away, not quite able to watch. Now that the rush of the fight was over, and she knew her companions were safe, she felt endlessly tired.

The King pronounced a short speech in Khuzdul over his fallen warriors, and the fire was lit. There were no dead among the Elven guard, but they were no less battered than the Dwarves and the Gondorian. Wren had attended to all, her skill of a healer seemingly supported by her magic. The golden glow seemed to be ebbing, with each minute that passed after the combat, but Wren managed to rein and direct whatever was left of the terrifying force into healing her company.

The pyres burnt, Wren stood pressed into the side of her husband, and then he barked a short order, commanding everyone to move. No one argued. They were almost at the foot of the mountain ridge where their final destination lay, and the lands were clearly unsafe. Everyone just wanted to reach the village.

Since the enemy destroyed Wren's wagon, she walked just like others. Taxation was growing more and more prominent, and Wren was heavily leaning onto the King's arm.

"We can build stretchers..." the Gondorian spoke, catching up with them, and the King threw a questioning look at her. Wren could see the faces of the two men clearly, the moonlight dancing on the noble features.

"I am quite alright… I am tired, but no less than others. I at least did not have to fight."

"But you did, my heart," the King answered softly. "Just not with a sword." Wren gave him a small smile and shook her head.

"That will slow us down. I am still capable. I just want to arrive already."

They walked some more, and then Amrod asked, "Who was the Uruk?"

"I have recognised the markings," the King answered gravely. "His name was Orcobal, Azog's bastard. I assume he was not allowed to join Shaglag in the siege of Erebor, and it seemed that he had been roaming the lands with what was left of Shaglag's army."

Wren squeezed the King's arm reassuringly. She knew he blamed himself for what happened, but she was certain that the happenstance had been destined to come, and the confidence grew in her that out of all possible outcomes this one was the best. She lamented the Dwarves that had laid their lives that day, but she wondered how many would have, had she not listened to the man in her dreams.

Wren threw a quick look at Amrod, who was silently walking in front of them; and she realised that the strange premonition she had carried in her heart since the day she asked him to join them on this journey was now gone. She knew now that the chapter in her life - with Amrod, son of Mablung in it - was over. Everything came to its conclusion, and there had been a purpose in what had transpired: the presence of the King on this trip had encouraged her to learn her magic, and to save their lives, and through it, Amrod, Thorin, and herself came to understanding where each one of them belonged.

* * *

They arrived to the entrance to the village three hours past midnight, and Wren stopped, staring at the gate in front of her in astoundment.

"My heart?.." the King softly called for her, and Wren tore her eyes off what looked like a small, narrow door in a plumb rock wall of a mountain.

"It is… a door." Despite exhaustion, the King chuckled and leaned in to her ear.

"It is an astute observation, my Queen." His jest was respectfully quiet, heard only by her, and she turned and peered into his blue eyes, right in front of her.

"I thought… a village… I imagined streets, and houses..." She trailed away bashfully.

"Have you had a chance of encountering the Khazad in your life before?" he whispered, low rumbly chuckle rolling in his chest, and she snorted and discreetly poked him under his ribs with her index finger. He probably felt nothing through his brigandine, though. A tiny feigned yelp he emitted was still rather satisfying.

"It is an Orc infested land. The entrance easiest to defend is a small one. Also, Dwarves do live underground." He quickly leaned in, and his warm lips brushed her cheek.

The captain of the guard stepped forward and banged on the door with a large hammer chained to a wall near the gate. A small opening went ajar, and an eye of a guard peeked through. Wren noted a tightly woven metal net on the peep hole.

There was a short conversation in Khuzdul between the guard and the Captain, and the door opened.

The company walked up to the gates, when one of the guards spoke in a harsh voice pointing at Amrod. There was some commotion, and the Captain turned to the King.

"They do not want to let the Man in."

The guard by the door rasped out something clearly agitated, and Wren could only distinguish a few words. Her Khuzdul was still nonexistent.

"So, you know, my lady, I have just been bitterly insulted," Amrod supplied in a feigned conspiratory tone, and Wren looked at him in shock. He was grinning. "'Siginkann...' I have heard this word before. It is a Dwarven derogatory word for Men."

She shortly wondered if she was also seen the same way, but then she remembered that with her height and in the Dwarven cloak she was wrapped in she was probably undistinguished from her Khazad companions.

"I wonder what they say of our Elven friends now," Amrod continued his hushed frolics.

"You cannot stay outside! It is dangerous!" Wren hissed back.

The King stepped ahead, and pushed the hood off his head. The guard at the doors jerked, and after one short command from the King the doors flew ajar. Wren felt pride and quite childish adoration bloom in her heart, and she dropped her eyes to the ground to hide the ogling. Passing him, she brushed her hand to his, and caught a glimpse of a small smile on his lips.

* * *

The village turned out nothing but a net of tunnels and living quarters in the body of the mountain, and Wren continued chuckling, recalling the King's words. Indeed, she should have expected it. She tried to observe as much as possible, comparing the surroundings with Erebor, and noting one major difference.

The settlement seemed very simple, almost poor. It was not at all bare, or shabby, or dirty. The halls they passed through were clean, well-organised, furniture and other belongings were well-made, sturdy, practical. There was no splendour, though, no ostentatious decor, which Wren felt so uncomfortable in when in Erebor. It was almost dawn, and most of the living quarters had no light in them, but they were passing a large courtyard, and Wren saw several Dwarves standing, torches in their hands, conversing.

Soon, she realised they were waiting for the King's company. One of the Dwarves, older, white bearded, stepped ahead, and bestowed the King with a low respectful bow.

"Horin, son of Huni, at your eternal service, my lord." His voice was welcoming, but Wren's perceptive intuition caught the tension in the faces of those meeting them. The King returned the favour, bowing, and introducing his companions, leaving Wren to be the last.

"And this is my wife, Uzdanuna Ereboras." He stretched the hand towards Wren, and she stepped ahead, holding her head high. Everyone's eyes fell on her. Everything shook inside her, but she smiled and bowed.

"We have heard of the miracles taking place in Erebor, my lady. And we are honoured to greet the Saviour of Erebor in our modest settlement." The Elder sounded sincere, and Wren exhaled in relief stealthily.

"The honour is all mine," Wren answered.

They followed the Elders into the Inner halls, discussing the fight. The Elders were relieved to hear that Orcobal's band was destroyed, and offered healers to look at the King's warriors, but none of them required medical attention. Wren's magic sped up the healing, and even the King was not limping anymore, although they all looked utterly drained. The Elves and Amrod's presence was still met with suspicion and a certain degree of animosity, and when a Dwarf came to escort the King and Wren to their private quarters, the King suddenly turned to the Gondorian and stretched his hand.

"I thank you for your service, Amrod, son of Mablung." They clasped their hands, and after releasing the King's hand the Gondorian bestowed him with a deliberately low bow.

"It has been an honour to fight on your side, honourable King Under the Mountain."

The King repeated the action with the Elven guards. He then turned to Wren, and looping her arm through his, she followed him along the tunnel.

* * *

They were brought to a large room, with a wide bed and a table with two chairs. There was supper on the table, lots of hearty, sound food in pots and on platters, and Wren saw a half open door in the opposite wall. She could see a large bathtub through it, and she as much as whimpered in anticipation.

"You should eat first, my heart..." She heard the King's merry voice, but she was already pulling off her chainmail, rushing towards the other room.

She saw buckets of steaming water on the floor near the tub, and called to the King, "Could you, please, help me with the water, Thorin?"

"I can help you with your garments as well," he purred, and she twirled, suddenly finding him behind her. She threw him a look from under her lashes.

"Water, my lord."

He barked a short guffaw and toppled the buckets in the tub. He then stepped to her and deftly took off the doublet off her body. Wren toed off her boots and pushed the legwear off. He jerked off his chainmail, the doublet and tunic followed, and Wren licked her lips.

"I have to disappoint you, my King. Nothing will transpire until we are both washed."

"Then we will combine the pleasures." He stepped to her and whisked her in his arms. She squealed and laughed. She had just one moment to shake off her stockings, when he threw her into the deliciously warm water.

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**_Summary:_**

_Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

_John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

_Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

_Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	103. Chapter 103

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* * *

Wren sat by the table, brushing her hair. Her thoughts wandered. She did not know what to expect from their visit to the village, and even less so she could guess what she was to see in the twin babes. She felt almost apprehensive. People dear to her felt hopeful, and she feared that their hopes were to be shattered. The King seemed to rein his assumptions, but Wren wondered whether Lady Dis were as strong-willed. Thorin told Wren that they had hidden the letter from her, when the Dwarven Kingdoms had been informed of the miracle of the double birth, but surely the rumours would reach her soon, and Wren knew what conclusion the Princess were to jump to right away. After all, two children, one with golden locks, another with dark hair, born around the same time as the King returned from the grave, after the Arkenstone had been returned to the Mountain, the line of Durin restored.

Wren pressed a palm to her stomach. Her son, Thror, if her dreams were to be true, was to become the continuation of the line, but she felt that indeed the fate would have been unfair to bring only one Heir of Durin from beyond the veil.

She felt the presence of the King behind her and turned. She had left him sleeping in the bed, hoping he would get the repose he desperately needed, after the journey and the fight.

He stood behind her, only in his breeches, face sleepy and grumpy, hair dishevelled. Wren suppressed an adoring urge. In the quietude of this room, in the most mundane of circumstances, she suddenly fully realised that it was her husband who stood in front of her.

He yawned and pushed his large hand in his wavy mane, ruffling the hair.

"Why are you awake, ushaktul? We could sleep another hour."

"The village is awake, I heard the noises. And I think a maid had stopped by to bring us breakfast, but did not dare knocking." Wren gave him a look over. "We need to get dressed. And perhaps brush our hair." She noted by the way he wrinkled his nose that the King clearly would prefer to return to bed.

He then picked up the brush from her hands and sat on the bench near her. With the same grumpy expression on his face, he twirled the finger in the air, commanding her to turn her back to him, and she looked at him in surprise. He sighed, as if exasperated.

"I want to brush your hair, Wren. Turn around," he mumbled, and yawned again. Wren blushed. Somehow, this act felt very intimate, almost sensual, and she shifted on the bench. The King picked up a handful of her hair, and goosebumps ran down her neck and her nape. She felt the first gentle movement of the brush along her curls.

"Last night… You asked me to talk to you before we go to see the babes," the King said, his tone pensive.

"I do not remember..." Wren frowned. "Did I?"

"You were already falling asleep. You were quite exhausted." A small note of playfulness hid in the King's tone, and Wren blushed even more. The previous night they had indulged in carnal pleasures in the bathtub, and Wren felt rather bashful now.

She shook her head, chasing away the libidinous memories.

"I do not remember this conversation, but I concede we need to talk, Thorin. I worry… We shall see them today, and I believe more will become clear… What worries me is what we are to say to your sister."

The movements of the brush faltered, and Wren felt the King tense behind her.

"I did not want to tell her anything, not until it is for certain that..." The King had not finished his line, and Wren softly turned.

His face was dark, frown on his brow, and Wren cupped his jaw and smiled to him tenderly.

"We all think it, Thorin. I believe we should just say it. You, and I, and others who know of the Arkenstone and of what transpired… We all think that the babes are your sister-sons reborn." Wren stroked the other side of his face with her left hand. "My heart, we cannot know for certain, and we might not know, but it is not the certainty that worries me..."

The King met her eyes, confusion splashing in his irises, and Wren sighed.

"What if they are? Your sister-sons. Their souls, their spirits, now in these babes. What then?" The King opened his mouth, clearly with a haste answer, but then his lips pressed together again, in a stern line, and Wren nodded.

"Do I understand it right that you are intending to argue their return to Erebor, Wren?" the King asked quietly, and Wren stroked his coarse beard again.

"Thorin, I do not wish to argue, and I am not the one who will be making the decision, but I beg you to give it a thorough consideration. Think of the life these two innocent children are to have in Erebor."

"What of it?" the King asked stubbornly, and Wren sighed again.

"If you take them to Erebor, they will grow up as shadows. Shadows of Fili and Kili." Wren knew that the names would wound the King, and she regretted the ache, but she felt it was her duty to point it out to the King. Just as she expected, his face distorted in a pained grimace. Wren continued, "They will be expected to replace them, those two young men who died too early. They will be compared, every step on the way, they will be told stories, and so many of those stories will be nothing but myths, beautified memories of two wonderful boys. You say 'their return' to Erebor, but they will not 'return' to the mountain. They have never been in it. They are their own people, even if the spirits of your sister-sons live in them. Do they not have the right to grow into the men they want to be, destined to be, without trying to match the ones you have lost?"

Wren had spoken softly, keeping their eyes locked, and her palms were pressed to his skin through her speech. She half expected the King to jump up, or at least move away from her, but instead he shifted and embraced her and pulled her into tight ring of his arms. He was silent, and Wren brushed her hands to the heavy silky waves at the back of his head.

"And I worry for your sister, my heart," she added, in the same soft tone. "She is as much as frantic, when speaking of our son. She is… unsettled. What would she be like if she had these two babes with her in Erebor? Would she retain clarity of mind?" Wren felt the King take a shattered breath in her arms. "And, Thorin… she had lost them once, they were taken away from her, cruelly. She had said goodbye to them, they left and never returned. Given the second chance with children, would she be reasonable? Or she would be unable to let them live, and seek adventures, and be themselves..."

Wren felt she had said everything she had to, and she quieted, holding the King tightly. He remained silent too, but Wren knew he had heard her. She also felt rather confident in his judgement these days. She believed she just needed to give him time, and after considering her words he would arrive to a decision that would be the best for everyone.

"Dis will know soon..." the King spoke in a hollow voice and moved away from Wren. "I can command the village to give up the babes. I have the letter from the Elders of Erebor supporting my authority, and I am after all King Under the Mountain. But..." He leaned in, and pressed his forehead to hers. "But I have a wise Queen…. And as much as I want to argue…" His voice broke, into agitated rasp, and Wren heard him swallow with difficulty. "The babes would not find peace and happiness in the Mountain." He sighed, and Wren felt this body shudder under her hands on his chest. "Before you spoke of it, I had not thought of them as anything but the replicas of them… others will do it too."

The King straightened up, and Wren saw knots of muscles dance on his jaw. He took a breath in, and the blue eyes burnt decisively.

"You are right, ushaktul. THose babes are not Fili and Kili, even if they carry their spirit. They are not..." He closed his eyes, hiding a moment of weakness, but Wren caught the glimpse of tears in his eyes. She pretended to be ignorant, and rubbed his upper arms supportively.

"We should see them, Thorin, we should see the babes. We will know what to do once we see them," Wren offered in a gentle voice. She had given it a thought while he was sleeping, and her intuition was pushing her to see the children first, and make up her mind after.

And there was one question that did not leave her in peace. She wondered whether the babes even looked like the King's sister-sons. After all, the King brought them up, he would know.

"Thorin, we are in no rush. Let us see them, and we can talk, and discuss it, and with the Elders of the village as well. Even if they have no power over you, their opinion matters. The village is the babes' home."

The King nodded and rose heavily. They pulled out fresh garments out of their travel sacks, dressed, and a knock came. It was a maid with a tray. After eating their breakfast, they went to meet with the Elders of the villages, and with them, they were to visit the house of the midwife who had been taking care of the children since the day they were born.

* * *

****PLEASE, CONSIDER SUPPORTING THE AUTHOR ON DOT COM!****

* * *

**My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

{two romance webserials, both inspired by my writing here}

**Facebook: Katya Kolmakov**

**JukePop: Katya Kolmakov**

{_Blind Carnival_

modern romance/erotica humour story, initially written here}

**Twitter: katyakolmakov**

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* * *

**My book on Amazon!**

**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

**{my first novel**

**inspired by the story initially written here}**

**Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

**_Summary:_**

_Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

_John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

_Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

_Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	104. Chapter 104

**A/N: Are you following my Facebook Writer's Page (Katya Kolmakov), and/or Twitter, and/or my blog (kolmakov dot ca)? :) All my WIP's news and updates are there!**

**A/N#2: Have you tried my modern AUs? "Blind Carnival" on JukePop dot com (John who is basically this version of Thorin, wise, gentle, and so very sexy), or Dr. T Series on my blog (kolmakov dot ca, where Dr. John Crispin Thorington is basically Thorin 2 from "Another Night, Another Path" and "Thorin's Queen" except he is a world renown neurosurgeon :D) **

**A/N#3: Stay connected, my duckies. I'm currently working on a fantasy novella based on Chapter 18 from my "Fairytales From Under the Mountain" and it's going to be a ride! It is dark, and angsty, but of course Thorin (Darius in this one) and Wren will prevail, and win over baddies, and then HEA of course :)**

**Love you all, and now to the wonder babes! :)**

**K. K.**

* * *

Wren and Thorin were following Horin, son of Huni through passages, and he explained to them that the village had five Elders, the fathers of the oldest families. He also told them that the babes resided with Svanna, daughter of Sir, the midwife who had delivered them. Wren quickly exchanged looks with the King. She had seen the woman in her vision, and the King knew of it. He gave her an almost unnoticeable nod, confirming that he remembered.

The halls where the children abided had the same prudent, modest air to them, just as the rest of the village, but Wren immediately felt easier and more comfortable once they entered them. The chambers were warm, clean, and the fragrance of fresh linen was in the well-vented air.

"This is Eli, son of Dar, our chief healer," Horin introduced a Dwarf standing by the wall, clearly expecting them. The healer gave them a low respectful bow.

The other four Elders sat on a low bench, and rose when Wren and the King entered. More introductions followed, and Wren understood that the villagers were stalling, uncertain of what the King's intentions towards the babes were. Wren herself was starting to feel impatient.

Her magic was flaring in her veins, she could feel it. The sensation was in no way unpleasant, it was more of an excitement, but she discreetly threw a pointed look to the King.

"Perhaps, we could have a look at the children. If we do not disturb them at this time," the King pronounced stately, and the healer disappeared in the backrooms to inquire.

The men continued their unhurried conversations, of weather, and the Orc attacks, and Wren stepped to the side, as if interested in the tapestry on the wall. Her sensitive ears caught the echoes of some loud agitated voice in the back room, and then a shrieky scream of a babe followed. The men in the room grew silent, and threw looks at the door.

The scream was growing louder, and then the door opened.

* * *

Svanna entered, carrying one of the babes in her arms, the second one resting in the embrace of the Dwarven woman who Wren assumed to be a wet nurse. While the latter babe seemed content and was just studying the room with a pair of curious brown eyes, the one Svanna held was screaming, his face red, little pudgy arms flailing, sturdy body wriggling.

The wet nurse was murmuring something comforting in Khuzdul, while the lips of the midwife were pressed in a distressed line.

"Svanna, this is King Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King of the Khazad, and his wife, Uzdanuna Ereboras. They have come to see the children," one of the Elders spoke in a pointed tone.

Wren looked at the woman with interest. She remembered the temper and the attitude the woman showed in Wren's vision, and the stubbornly frowned brow and narrowed dark eyes only confirmed Wren's impression from Svanna, daughter of Sir. Wren liked her instantly.

Both Dwarven women gave the King and Wren a bow, as much as holding a child allowed, Svanna, of course, having so much more trouble. The babe in her arms was starting to slip into loud hollering from time to time.

"Is the child healthy?" the Elder asked, raising his voice to be heard over the howls and cries.

The midwife answered something short and pointed in Khuzdul, and turned the blonde babe to face her. The words she addressed to him were pronounced in a much softer voice, but the boy did not seem any less agitated.

The wet nurse stepped to the King, and Wren saw him study the face of the dark haired boy, his eyes roaming the features. A pair of dark brown, lively eyes met his, and the King stretched his hand to the boy. A small chubby hand flew up, and the fingers wrapped around the man's thumb.

At that moment the other child's voice reached unprecedented height and volume, and Wren asked, "May I have him, please?"

A clear moment of hesitation ran the face of the midwife, and Wren saw her lips press even tighter, and then a small sturdy body was passed to her.

Wren had never before held a Dwarven child in her arms. A comparison with a beard cub came to her mind. The boy was solid, the skin and flesh so much firmer than that of a child of Men, and there was heat coming from him.

Wren allowed him to settle on her bent arm, her other hand softly rubbing his back, and only then she realised that everyone was looking at her. The child was silent, the blue eyes fixed on her face.

"Hello," she said, and after a long sniffle and a shuddered sigh the boy gave out a small cooing noise. "Well, hello there..." Wren paused not knowing the boy's name.

"Odrim, son of Onar," the midwife supplied in a tense voice.

"Well, hello, Odrim, son of Onar." Wren smiled to the boy, and he stretched his hand, grabbing fistful of her orange curls. He tugged but not painfully, and then the second hand joined, chubby fingers tangling into Wren's hair.

"Odrim… Daylight hour..." the King translated, and then confidently picked up the second boy, who immediately snuggled into him, hiding his face into the King's neck. The dark curls on top of his head looked glossy and soft.

"Lemlel, son of Onar," the wet nurse introduced the babe, who kept on rubbing its small nose to the bottom of the King's beard.

"Midnight of all nights..." the King pronounced in a gentle, emotional voice, and Wren laughed merrily.

"Lemlel seems to be quite fascinated with your beard, my King. Perhaps hoping to grow a majestic one just like that one, and soon," she teased her husband, and he threw a quick sideways glance. Wren noted the joyous, excited gleam in the King's blue irises.

Wren shifted her gaze from the King to the boy in her arms. He was playing with her hair, and she stroked the soft curls at the back of his head. The hair was of the fairest golden blonde, thick, and twisting at the nape. The eyes were still red, from previous crying fit, but he seemed quite content now. Wren noted a capricious, stubborn line of the small pink mouth.

And then a wave of visions flooded her mind. Sensations, emotions, jumbled, bright but disjointed filled Wren's mind, and she gasped.

* * *

_Finger on a string of a bow, a breath in, an exhale, and an arrow flies… and the certainty that it will hit the target…_

_The desire to please, to be noticed, to be just as good as his brother…_

_Mother… Warmth, trust... She worries…_

_Joy, dance, music… A kiss… And then another… Stolen but not a crime… Laughter of a girl, and his own joining…_

_Uncle… Admiration, and love, and ardent loyalty… His King, his kin, his family…_

_Running down a hill, grass around his ankles… Many travels, and so much to see still… He is lucky he gets to see the world, not locked in the village…_

_Mother worries, though…_

_The starry sky above his head, the quietude of the campsite at night, and the moon… Massive, as if taking half the sky... Golden..._

_Ale is making his head spin, and he is laughing… He knows he is drunk, but so is his brother… He can see the bright blush above his brothers' golden beard, and they laugh and laugh, and Uncle says nothing, throwing them a sideways look... The inn is safe, and they are staying the night, and the bed will lure him in soon..._

_He is so happy, and drunk, and knows he is… And then the music starts…_

_He is a warrior… The hilt of the sword in his hand, and he knows the blow he places is heavy and precise, and he feels proud…_

_There is something else… Some warmth, a fleeting, vague feeling…_

_A woman…_

_Not of his people, but bright, unforgettable, made of starlight… Like the golden moon he saw once… The hair of the same colour… like coppered gold..._

* * *

Wren had not noticed when tears started running her cheeks, and she laughed through them, her throat choked.

The babe looked at her, and Wren pushed a soft golden lock off his forehead.

"You always had a weakness for redheads, did you not?" she asked, her voice trembling, and the babe cooed and pulled at the braid in her hair.

"Wren?" the King asked, his face uncertain and emotional, and Wren gave him a soft smile.

"Could I hold Lemlel, please?" she asked, and they exchanged their precious cargo.

The blonde child emitted a gleeful giggle as soon as he was in the King's arms, and grabbed the thick braids at the sides of the King's face. A low chuckle rumbled in the Dwarf's chest. The boy was bobbing in his arms, smiling and pulling at the plaits.

Wren was prepared for this waves of visions, as soon as her eyes met the dark brown ones of Lemlel, son of Onar.

* * *

_He feels strong, stable, confident… His head is held high, he is the heir… He knows where he stands and what is expected from him…_

_Loyalty, kindredship, love…_

_His family, his mother, his brother, his uncle…_

_His people…_

_He feels the burden, but it is a dignified heft…_

_Hilts lie in his palms, in a familiar beloved weight… Blades are sharp, and so many more are in his garments..._

_The cozy crackling of a fire at night… hushed voices of their warriors…_

_He worries… About Mother, and his brother… About his Uncle…_

_Pride and dignity… He is an Heir of Durin…_

_There is this lovely girl in Ered Luin, and he will come back to her when the Quest is over… He would like to say it is nothing, but his thoughts stray to her so very often…_

_He is drunk, and his brother is laughing, clapping his hand to the table… He throws a look at Uncle, but there is no disapproval in his eyes…_

_The same blue colour as his… He is an Heir of Durin… _

_They say Durin's irises were of the colour of Ered Luin sapphires…_

_He worries… How is Mother there? Alone, left behind… Home…_

_Home is where his kin are…_

* * *

Wren leaned in and pressed her lips to the warm cheek of the boy, tasting the salt of her own tears. The dark eyes, the colour of strong coffee, ran her face, as if worried, and she smiled with trembling lips.

"It is an honour to meet you, Lemlel, son of Onar," she spoke in a low voice, and the boy smiled and leaned in, pressing his nose to her cheek.

Wren laughed, and her eyes met the King's, mirroring her expression and the tears. His lips twitched, but he spoke nothing, and just nodded to her.

And then the voice of the midwife rang in the room, scratchy and disagreeable. "So, what are you to do with them now?"

* * *

**My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

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modern romance/erotica humour story, initially written here}

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* * *

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**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

**{my first novel**

**inspired by the story initially written here}**

**Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

**_Summary:_**

_Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

_John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

_Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

_Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	105. Chapter 105

"Children are not property, Svanna, daughter of Sir. They are not to be procured, or relocated at someone's whim." The King's tone was pointed and grave, but Wren noticed little sparkles of laughter dancing in his eyes. The midwife was more than a head shorter than him, but she held her chin up, glaring at him. A comparison to a round brown hen in front of a black wolf came to Wren's mind.

"Is it not why you are here? To take them away?" the midwife asked.

"Svanna! Watch your tongue!" the chief healer hissed at her, but she did not seem affected. She stepped closer to the King, her round shoulders tense, and Wren moved as well, and suddenly it was the three of them in a small circle, the babes between them.

"We are only here to ensure the best for the children," the King announced in a low voice, his eyes locked with the dark brown ones of the Dwarven woman. "Their destiny is to be decided among everyone involved."

"You just think they are the reborn fallen princes!" Svanna exclaimed and pointed at the babes.

"Svanna!" one of the Elders lifted his hand in a warning, and she whipped her head and gave him a glare.

"Are you to argue with me? You all think thusly, it is just no one is brave enough to voice it out! That they are, and that now they are to go to Erebor, and replace the boys that got killed!" She turned back to the King, meeting his gaze directly.

His face had hardly changed, but Wren had grown quite skilled in reading the emotions he hid. 'The boys _you_ got killed' was the underlying meaning of her words, and Wren could feel the pain and the guilt that slashed through the King's heart as if her own.

She stepped closer, her elbow brushing at his discreetly, and they quickly exchanged looks.

The midwife then shifted her eyes at her.

"You cannot replace those who have fallen… or those who cannot be born, with these children," Svanna whispered, her cheeks flaming. She seemed almost ashamed of her own cruel words, and Wren did not feel angered. Of course, that was how it looked to many. One could easily assume that not being of the Khazad Wren would fear she would not bear and to become the mother to the twin children would surely enforce her position in Erebor.

Wren smiled softly into the flaming face of the midwife, leaned in, and whispered in return, "I would not attempt either, Svanna, daughter of Sir. And it is quite late for the latter."

The midwife's eyes widened, she gasped, and then her eyes dropped at Wren's middle.

"As much as I reprobate Svanna's behaviour here," one of the Elders spoke at the background, and the midwife winced away, the spell connecting the two women broken. Svanna threw a quick look at the King, who looked - perhaps, only very slightly but still - smug. "I do think the woman raises a rightful concern," the Elder continued. "What is to be done with the children?"

Everyone looked at the King, who was meanwhile gazing at the blonde child in his arms. The boy was gleaming with a wide, toothless smile, playing with the thick glossy plaits at the sides of King Thorin's face. Wren held her breath.

"The children seem healthy and content. They are cared for, and I do not see why anything is to be done with them. Why buy a new hammer if an old one works?" The King's words were as mollifying as they were vague but Wren remembered he was a Dwarf. Such were the rules of engagement.

The Elders nodded stately, and started murmuring among them.

"We will repose now," the King continued. "And I am certain it is time to feed the children. One of them is currently trying to feed himself on the Queen's jewels."

Wren, who was at that moment preoccupied trying to gently pry her earring out of the mouth of Lemlel, chuckled. The wet nurse and the midwife picked up the children and left, after a bow and an agitated glare from Svanna. The King's face remained unreadable.

The men continued their conversation for another hour, and Wren sat, and answered decorously, frustration growing in her. She had to remind herself, and not once, that such were the tempers and the customs of the Khazad, the endless polite, detailed, and in her opinion pointless conversations were to be held, and hairy heads were to nod, and hums to be exchanged.

"You have to excuse me, my lords," the King finally spoke, and rose. Other men followed. "I am to write to Erebor and send a raven. I apologise for this haste."

Only the resolution to become the queen Erebor needed kept Wren from snorting. She would not call an hour of ceremonial, stately, and vague discussions a haste. She rose as well, and after another ten minutes of excruciating bowing and exchanging niceties, the two of them finally left.

They were accompanied back to the their halls, and when the door closed behind their maid, the King pulled her into tight embrace. Wren was planning to start careful inquiries, but the King roughly cupped the back of her head and pulled her to his lips. She froze, not prepared for this fervour, and then the fingers of his other hand were already on the lacing of her bodice. She squeaked, but quickly decided that one was not to argue with a King.

* * *

They lay in bed, their bare bodies intertwined, and Wren stacked her fists on his chest and looked him over. He looked sated, his features softened, and she giggled.

"Is this to be your habitual way of releasing emotional tension, my lord?" He looked at her from the corner of his eye, and the soft lips twitched. "Do not misunderstand me, I quite enjoy it. Much better than roaring and throwing goblets." Wren smiled widely, and she felt a chuckle rumble in his chest under her body. "I especially approve of the technique of the second bout," Wren purred suggestively. She had never in her life spoken so lewdly and directly about carnal matters, but the King did not seem disapproving, and she felt it was a natural progression of their association. "Me on my stomach, your body weighing on mine..."

"Alright, that did it," the King interrupted her, his voice raspy and aroused, and rolled her underneath him.

* * *

"They do not look like Fili and Kili..."

Wren was nodding off, enveloped in the warm cocoon of covers and the heat coming from the King's body, soothed by his fingers playing with her hair. His words made her lift her head and look at him.

"The babes..." he continued, and met her eyes. "I remember them well at this age. Kili had stomach aches. Dis used to say his head was too big, and the gut needed time to catch up."

"It is common in children who are bright," Wren agreed in a soft voice, awed by the soft light in the King's features. His eyes were distant, long time memories colouring his face with affection and melancholy.

"Fili had always been quiet. He started speaking late, and Dis worried. But then Kili was born, and it was never quiet in the house after that… That endless chatter… Irak'adad, Irak'adad…" The King suddenly immitated a high whiny voice. _Uncle, uncle..._ "We considered a gag…"

Wren lay still, afraid to scare off this moment of openness from him, feeling he needed to speak of his sister-sons. She saw his throat bob and the jaw under the coarse black beard clenched. His beautiful blue eyes were shiny, but the tears did not spill.

"What am I to do, Wren?" he suddenly asked, and turned his face to her.

Emotions splashed, in his deep bright eyes, and Wren saw love, and heartache, and uncertainty.

Tender understanding ran between them. He was the King, a man in power, the one to decide, and she had remained silent there, in the children's chambers, expressed no judgement, stood in his shadow. But now, when they were alone, in a bed they shared, in a room only for them, in their own small world, with their son's heart evenly between them, he was bare in front of her, in his body, mind, and soul. A man, vulnerable, uncertain, a grieving uncle, and a future father, her husband, the man who loved and trusted her… her Thorin…

Wren took a deep breath in, and her palm lay on his cheek. He leaned into her hand almost unnoticeably.

"You are to do what is best for everyone," she answered simply. "And I will share your burden. I will share the responsibility and the consequences whatever your decision is to be."

He cupped her face, cradling it in his large hot palms, and their lips met in an ardent loving kiss. Wren heart soared, with love, and from feeling that she finally belonged, and now knew where home was.

He moved her away from him slightly and smiled to her softly.

"I am a lucky Dwarf. And to think of it, some disagreeable Elven maiden could have had your dreams, and where would I be now?"

Wren smacked his chest, snorting, and he laughed. It was not quite his full bodied guffaw, sadness still lingered in his eyes, but then he took a deep measured breath in, and settled her on his chest. Wren pressed her cheek over his strong beating heart, and closed her eyes.

They lay in silence, and then Wren heard the King's voice, firm, and finally... peaceful.

"The children will stay in the village. It is their home." Wren wrapped her arm around his middle and pressed harder into him. "I will speak to Dis," he continued.

"She will want to abide here, close to them. She should be allowed," Wren softly offered, keeping authoritativeness out of her tone.

"I have not thought of it…" Wren was surprised to hear this concession. "I will make arrangements. But..." Uncertainty crawled into the King's tone. "Will it be beneficial for the babes? And for her? She is so… erratic these days."

"Of course, it will!" Wren exclaimed and rose on one elbow. "She is a Dwarf, Thorin. You are a staunch, stout hearted people. And just like you, she will see that the children are not to be treated as poor replacement for her sons, but babes to be loved, and cherished, and respected."

The King smiled, wrinkles running in the corners of his eyes, and he pulled her to his lips.

"My prudent little Queen," he murmured into the kiss, and Wren arched into him. "And now..." He tapped the tip of her nose with his finger. "You will tell me of what you saw in your visions." Wren's eyes widened, and he guffawed. "You are my wife, Wren. I know you well. Not only I caught your agitation, but I have also noted how you said nothing to influence my decision." Wren chewed at her lip, her cheeks burning. He chuckled and quickly kissed her lips. "Or to influence it in the most cunning of ways, my shrewd little wife."

"It was not that calculative," Wren pronounced in a defensive tone, and he smiled to her wider. "I just thought… you did not need my judgement, you just needed my loyalty."

"And I always will," he answered firmly. "And I am endlessly grateful." He sealed his words with another ardent kiss. "And now tell me of them."

Wren sat up, wrapping in covers and told him everything, starting her story with a giggle and the words, "I think Mahal the Smith has quite a sense of humour..."

* * *

Their return journey to Erebor was uneventful. Wren rode in a wagon given to her by the village, where she studied her books on Khuzdul. Amrod said his goodbyes near Dale, heading back to the Northmen village, and the Elves bowed and left for Mirkwood.

Wren and her King were finally home, and the preparations for their wedding started.

* * *

**A/N: Just a few chapters left, my duckies! Wedding, Dis, Bilbo, Gandalf, and couple small questions to be answered - and we are done! It was quite a journey, wasn't it?**

* * *

**A/N#2: The next journey I invite you to join me on is **_**Letters to Your Heart, Axes to Your Scabbard. **_**It is the classical 'girl joins the Dwarves on the Quest' one, based on magnificent Selma's prompt (have you seen her blog whowanderlost dot blogspot dot com with magnificent Thorin and Wren fanart?) **

**In **_**Letters **_**the protagonist is a 'Dwarven Wren,' Werna, daughter of Lyr. This will make her a different character of course, and Thorin was betrothed to her sister! Ooooh, delicious drama :) We will follow the films (with 'small' deviations of course), and the events will receive that very feminine touch that every FF requires :)**

* * *

**A/N#3: Please, like my Facebook author's page (Katya Kolmakov)! I've just posted a teaser for my traditional modern Christmas fluff. I'm quite proud of the cover, and we all need a cup of cheer this season!**

* * *

**Happy holidays!**

**Love you,**

**kkolmakov**


	106. Chapter 106

**A/N: NEWS! NEWS! NEWS!**

**In the next couple weeks I'm opening an ETSY SHOP called *The King and Wren*! There will be my MiniThorin's printables there; my book; and prints by a wonderful local artist that will come with an access code to my new stories inspired by my writing here. You buy a wonderful piece of art, and download a novella. How's that? :)**

**My MiniThorin doodles will be available as recipe cards, Christmas gift tags, and stationery! The first novella will be the elaboration of the idea in Chapter 16 in my "Fairytales From Under the Mountain." **

**PLEASE, like and follow my writer's Facebook page (Katya Kolmakov) to get the news and updates; DISCOUNTS and GIVE-AWAYS for my beloved FanFiction readers!**

* * *

**A/N#2: This one is short but I didn't want to add anything else since this chapter is so dear to me. I felt very emotional about it, and I hope you get a little tingle from it too.**

* * *

**Love you, my dear readers!**

**Katya**

* * *

Two moons passed, and the preparations for the wedding of the King Under the Mountain and Lady Wren were almost complete. The provisions for the feast that was to take a month were stocked; the barrels of ale, mead, and wine were still being brought in from around Middle Earth; more and more Dwarves were arriving from other Kingdoms, filling the halls of the Mountain, and the inns of Dale and Esgaroth.

On a midday, on one of the first warm weeks of Spring, the King was walking behind his bride, carrying a large picnic basket, two guards behind them at a safe but respectful distance.

"Why are we leaving the Mountain and going to sit on cold fallen trees and eat food that could so much more easily be enjoyed in our Halls?" the King grumbled, and Wren threw him a laughing look over her shoulder.

"Because you are marrying a woman of Men, and I need sunlight and fresh air sometimes." Wren's foot slipped on a patch of wet ground, and the King caught her under the elbow. "And your son does as well."

The King emitted a theatrical sigh.

"We could just go for a walk. Why a picnic?" the King asked, and Wren laughed.

"Because I am perpetually starving, my unobservant King," Wren answered cheekily, and although she kept her voice down, she saw one of the guard press his lips in an attempt to suppress a smile. Wren by then had become quite involved into the work of the Erebor infirmary, and gotten acquainted with most midwives in the city, and she knew that the guard's wife was expecting and was close to her term. He clearly knew the hunger the expectant mothers had to handle.

Wren pushed her hand in the pocket of her elegant cloak, made of dark green velvet and silver fox fur on the hood. She pulled out a piece of seedcake, wrapped in waxed paper, and breaking off small pieces and popping them in her mouth she continued walking into the woods surrounding the Front Gates of Erebor. The King chuckled and followed her.

* * *

An hour later they were seated on an improvised mattress, covers and furs keeping the cold of the ground away from them, Wren was finishing a chicken leg, her feet tucked in under her, a blanket around her, while the King was half lying on his side, leaning on his elbow, watching his wife.

Wren froze with chicken between her teeth, and gave him a questioning look.

"What is it?" she asked, meeting his attentive studying eyes.

"Nothing..." the King smiled widely, and she decorously put the chicken leg aside, wiped her hands on a napkin, and then jumped at him rolling him on his back.

"Are you ogling me, my lord?" she whispered in his lips, and he guffawed.

"Perhaps..." he easily agreed, a hot large palm cupped the back of her head, and he led her to his lips.

After a few instants of enthusiastic busses, Wren heard a rustle in the nearby bushes. She knew those were the guards, who previously had stayed out of sight, perhaps aiming to not only be unseen, but to not see anything either. Wren moaned into the King's lips, trying to warn him, but he misinterpreted the sound, and she felt his tongue brush at her lips. They lay facing each other, and suddenly his left hand covered her buttock, and he gave it a hearty squeeze. Wren twisted her mouth from under his greedy lips.

"Thorin, the guards are coming..."

The King lifted his head and looked at the source of noise. Wren tried to wiggle from under his weight - he had already rolled her underneath him - but he did not allow her.

"My King, there was a traveller on the road… He is coming our way now..." Wren heard the voice of one of the guards, and she pressed her hands into the King's chest trying to push him off.

"Well, go investigate..." the King called to the guard, and then quickly pecked Wren's lips and released her. They sat up and started straightening their clothes.

* * *

"Good day, Thorin," a soft male voice came from the bushes, and Bilbo Baggins stepped out into the clearing, the two guards behind him.

The King - who was hastily buttoning up his doublet that Wren had clearly opened but did not remember doing so - lifted his eyes, and Wren saw his face light up with a storm of emotions. Wren then shifted her eyes onto the visitor.

Now that she had a chance to study his face better, she noticed the difference between his current - well-fed and clean - look and Ori's drawing that allowed her to recognise his at the first place.

The King jumped up on his feet, and Wren rose slowly too. The two men studied each other, and then she saw the Hobbit's nose twitch nervously. Wren knew of the conversation the two of them had had when Thorin was dying of his wounds in the healer's tent after the Battle of the Five Armies, and how he had granted the Hobbit forgiveness for taking the Arkenstone. Thorin had not gone in many details, and Wren assumed that the old insult was still paining his heart. And she could not forget that after his return the King had not written to the Hobbit.

Wren saw muscle knots on the King's jaw, and the Hobbit was giving him stubborn looks, shifting between his feet, and she decided she had had enough of the two thick-skulled males!

"Master Baggins!" she exclaimed gleefully. "What a joy to finally meet you!"

She stepped around the King, ignoring his betrayed glare and the Hobbit's flabbergasted expression.

"I am Lady Wren, the wife of Thorin Oakenshield. It is such an honour to greet you at the upcoming celebration of our marriage!"

The Hobbit stared at her, and then jerked, and bestowed her with a low bow. A small travelling sack slid off his shoulder.

"What are you doing here, Master Baggins?" the King asked, his voice low and menacing.

"He is here upon my invitation." Wren answered without turning and taking her eyes off Bilbo's face. He looked at her astounded. "Fortunately, Master Baggins was in Rivendell, and now he is here!" Wren threw her husband a merry smile, receiving a dark look from under frowned brows. "Is it not marvellous, my heart?"

The King's lips, twisted in a enraged grimace, and the narrowed eyes showed quite obviously that he did not see the situation as marvellous at all.

"But I am cold now, we should return to the Mountain. And I am certain, Master Baggins cannot wait to rest, eat, and meet his old friends. After all, he had been through so much in the company of Thorin Oakenshield," Wren spoke pointedly, adding authoritative firmness into her tone, "Surely, he is as much a brother to them."

A pause hung above them, and Wren watched the King's face attentively. There was an instant where she thought he would brush her statement and its underlying meaning off, and perhaps turn and march to the Mountain without as much as a glance towards the Hobbit, but suddenly the King stepped forwards and pulled Master Baggins into tight embrace. A second before it the Hobbit's face was terrified - as if he expected a blow - and a small bewildered squeak escaped him when the King's arms wrapped around him.

"Welcome back to Erebor, Master Burglar," the Dwarf spoke in a low emotional voice, and Wren could not hide a pleased smile. Old grievances were to be forgiven and let go, she felt. It was the time for joy and celebration and new beginnings.

Wren's eyes met Bilbo's over the King's shoulder, and she saw tears in his eyes. She nodded to him, picked up her cloak off the ground, and gestured to the guards to gather the picnic basket and the covers.

She saw the two men conversing quietly now, and she beckoned the guards to follow her to the Mountain leaving the King and the Hobbit behind.

"I will see you two later at dinner," Wren said without turning, but she doubted they heard her.

She walked back to Erebor, a small soft smile playing on her lips.


	107. Chapter 107

**Happy New Year, my dearies! All the best wishes in 2016!**

**This chapter is just as light and cheery as the previous one, but let's be honest here, these days this story is as much as complete, and the chapters are nothing but both you and I tying the loose ends and stalling the goodbyes :)**

**Love you all,**

**K.K.**

**P.S. The new cover is designed by yours truly, using the art by Selma Pimentel from ****whowanderlost dot blogspot dot com. Check out more Thorin + Wren art there, and find her on Facebook! She is a genius! (And we might or might not be collaborating on a graphic steampunk novel ;)**

* * *

Thorin entered his halls and found his wife sitting on a large divan that had been now moved into his parlour, some needlework in her hands. Wren lifted her head and smiled to him blissfully.

"Are you quite happy with yourself, my heart?" he asked sardonically, giving her a look over.

Wren dropped her eyes down to the sewing she was working on, hiding her smile.

"I do not quite understand what you mean, my lord," she answered, keeping her tone innocent.

"The Hobbit… I mean, the Hobbit, invited to _my _wedding, without me knowing of it," Thorin answered, emphasising the pronoun, his voice dropping around the word 'without,' and he walked up to her. She peeked, trying to see if he was indeed displeased, but his eyes were twinkling with merriment. The frown he was wearing was clearly a pretense. Wren would not have felt any less 'happy with herself' as he put it, but she would not want him any discontent, of course.

"I was not aware you did not wish to see him at _your _wedding celebration," Wren drew out, pretending to go back to her sewing. "And your behaviour in the woods surely did not signify it either… You did embrace him, and I have not seen you embrace anyone before." Wren looked at the King from under her lashes, tilting her head.

He was eyeing her, corners of his lips twitching. He was obviously trying to look cross, and then he chuckled, leaned in, and pressed his lips to her forehead tenderly.

"You are abusing your influence on me, my insubordinate Queen." His voice was low and flirtatious.

"I do not have…" Wren started and giggled. "Much of it..." she finished, and he guffawed and kissed her lips firmly. He then tenderly stroked her cheek with his thumb, and his eyes fell on the handiwork.

"Why are you taking it on yourself, my treasure? I am certain one of the seamstresses..." He stopped in his tracks, when she lifted the infant shirt she was working on, for him to see better. He froze, his eyes roaming the tiny acorns she embroidered along the bottom hem.

"I bought the linen in Dale, last moon," Wren spoke softly, and brushed the tips of her fingers to the miniscule sleeve. "I just wanted to make one myself… There are so many gifts, but I wanted..."

Wren did not have a chance to finish, when the King bent down, grabbed her under her arms - the work falling out of her hands - and pulled her up and into him, in a tight embrace. Wren felt him suck a sharp breath in, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, cradling his head in her left palm. She expected the moment of vulnerability - he had so few of them, after all - to pass quickly, but he stood, pressing her into him. Wren smiled softly, closed her eyes, and listened to the hearts of her husband and her unborn son beating in unison.

The King finally released her, and she met his emotional eyes. He returned her smile, picked up the shirt, and touched the embroidery, with the very tips of his fingers, as if afraid to damage, or mar it.

"Azghzarslaws," he whispered. _Oak nut, _Wren translated in her mind. 'Oak' was one of the first words she asked of the old Dwarf who was teaching her Khuzdul. He was the brother of the Loremaster, but the opposite to him in temper. Wren enjoyed her lessons endlessly.

She nodded, and accepted the handiwork from the King's hands. He cleared his throat and sat near her.

"I did come here for a reason, my Queen," he said, and she giggled again.

"To scold me, I assume?" she offered, and he gave her a feigned disapproving look from under a cocked up eyebrow. She considered sticking her tongue at him, but refrained, only smiling wider.

"I came to ask for a favour, my heart." The King's tone grew serious, and Wren moved away, taking the hand - she was intending to tickle him - off his knee. He sighed. "It is about Dis." Wren hummed, encouraging him to speak.

"I have not talked to her yet," the King started. "Not after we returned from the village. And I am certain she knows by now. The rumours, of course, have reached her. But we have not discussed the children with her, but I know she is expecting me too. She has this look sometimes..." The King threw a slightly uncomfortable side glance at his wife, and she had a rather funny revelation.

"Are you… afraid of your sister, my King?" she asked in a conspiratorial whisper, and he shifted on the divan.

"She glares!" The King's tone was defensive, and Wren pressed her lips, trying to suppress a laugh. "Silently! You know the look! She looks like our Mother at those moments! She just sits at dinner, or meets me in a passage, and then there is… the look!" he as much as hissed, and a snort finally escaped Wren. "It is not at all funny, Wren!"

"It very much is, my heart," Wren answered, her voice shaking from laughter. "You are well aware that you need to speak to her. And the fact that the mighty King of Longbeards is timorous when faced with his sister's temper is indeed rather entertaining."

"You are not the one who grew up with her!" the King exclaimed, and that was Wren's undoing. She rolled with laughter and fell back on the divan, her hands pressed over her still flat stomach. The view of a pouting King of the Khazad did not help her rein her frolics at all.

He stared at her for a while, his brows drawn together, and then he lunged, and pressed her into the velvet of the divan, mindful not to weigh on her stomach.

"Stop laughing at me, woman!" he growled rather convincingly, and she giggled. He fought, but a grin bloomed, and he caught her mouth.

They exchanged a few playful busses, and then he moved away from her, still caging her between his arms, supporting himself on his elbows. Laughter was gone from his features.

"I lack your tact, Wren..." he spoke quietly, and she rubbed his upper arms reassuringly, catching up on his mood. "I made the decision. The babes were to stay in the village. And she could go there, but… Will it be good for her? You know better… I was not here, but you saw her in her grief..." The King's face distorted in acute emotional ache, and Wren's heart clenched in sympathy.

"It was not your fault, Thorin. Neither their death, nor your absence when she mourned… You could do nothing..." The muscles danced on the King's jaw. Wren felt pity flood her. As accepting and wise as he was these days, after his return, it could not possibly be easy for him to tolerate being and having been so powerless. "You are here now, Thorin." His burning eyes met hers. "You are her brother. I can tell her of my visions, and of the babes, but she needs you now. She needs her kin."

The King stilled, and then sighed, and nodded, almost unnoticeably.

"What am I to say?" he asked in a hesitant tone. "And what if she… I am fearful for her sanity."

"I would not be," Wren answered softly, and cupped his jaw. "She is a woman. And a Dwarf. I trust her to stay sound."

The King nodded again, and then leaned in and pressed his forehead to hers.

"I will speak to her myself," he said after a pause, and Wren kissed his cheek above the coarse beard.

"What did you talk about with Master Baggins?" Wren asked, and he chuckled.

"That was a quite clumsy diversion, my Queen," he whispered, and she kissed the tip of his nose.

"And you are being evasive, my King."

He puffed air out, as if in indignation, and rolled on his back, staring at the ceiling. Wren sat up, pulling up her legs, tucking her feet under herself.

"Well?" she said pointedly.

"Well what?" He continued studying the ceiling, and Wren poked his shoulder with her finger.

"The Hobbit."

"What of him?"

Wren repeated her poking maneuver, and the King caught hr finger and kissed the tip of the digit.

"We… reconciliated," the King said grudgingly, giving in under Wren's intense glare.

"Good," Wren pulled her hand out of his grasp, and picked up a silky ebony strand from the velvet of the divan. She twirled it around her finger. They both were quiet, and then the King exhaled loudly.

"Well, what is it? I know you are harbouring some thoughts!" he exclaimed in a slightly irritated tone. "Do speak up. I feel like you are slowly pickling me in your silence!" Wren giggled and twirled the strand some more.

"I understand that you had granted words of forgiveness to Master Baggins then… after the battle, but since you did not write to him upon your return, I understood that you did not feel full forgiveness… So I assumed that you felt the words you spoke then were partially words of goodbye, and the forgiveness was not fully felt, but you thought it was your last chance to part on good terms. And now the two of you spoke, and the genuine peace and friendship are now…"

Wren halted her speech, because the King suddenly started laughing loudly.

"Thorin?"

"I feel like a masterfully plucked, skinned, and gutted fowl," the King rasped between his booming guffaws. "The next step is to pull out my brains and sort them out in little cups!"

Wren blushed furiously.

"Forgive me, I was just wondering if I understood you right..."

"Of course you have, impossible woman!" he continued guffawing. "When have you not? It is rather humiliating, though, to be read so easily. Thank Mahal, you might be the only one..." He chuckled for a while more, and Wren sat wriggling her fingers, her face flaming.

He then rose on one elbow and tapped her nose with his finger.

"Do not feel too bashful, my heart. I will eventually grow accustomed to being an open book to you." Wren bit into her bottom lip, feeling only more embarrassed. "So, what did you want to know then? Since you clearly do not require my explanation on the matter of the Hobbit."

Wren chewed at her lip, but then she softly touched his shoulder and asked quietly, "You have not written to the Grey Wizard either. Is there a chance you could consider reconciliation with him as well?"

A low groan and the King's body limply falling back on the divan was an answer to her question. Thorin, son of Thrain theatrically threw an arm across his eyes and emitted another long martyrly moan.

And then he jumped up, his eyes widened, and roared, "You have written to him as well!"

Wren gave him a shy smile in return, and then had to watch her husband roll on his stomach and repeatedly hit his head to the armrest of the divan.

* * *

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_Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

_John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

_Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

_Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	108. Chapter 108

**Hello *waves***

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* * *

It was a week after the beginning of the celebrations of the union of Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, and Lady Wren of Enedwaith, when Gandalf the Grey had appeared at the Front Gates of the Kingdom of Erebor. The Lonely Mountain was buzzing and shaking these days, roaring with laughter and music, halls filled with Dwarves from all over Middle Earth, Men of Dale and Esgaroth, Northmen, and even Elves of Mirkwood. Food and drink were abundant, and the Wizard walked the passages of the Mountain, looking around, and shaking his grey haired head. The last time he had been in the Lonely Mountain was at the funeral of King Thorin. Now he was attending his wedding.

The first of the company whom he met on his path was Bofur. The Dwarf was for no conceivable reason standing on a large wooden table, his head dropped back, ale running into his throat from a Man sized mug. The crowd at his feet was cheering.

"Gandalf!" a familiar voice came from Gandalf's left, and he whipped his head. Dori was rushing to him, a large mug in each hand, a wide smile on his face.

"Gandalf!" Nori's voice joined in, and he appeared from around the table. By then Bofur finished his drink, and roared with joy at the sight of the Wizard.

Gandalf smiled gleefully to the familiar faces, and then Ori shyly appeared from behind his brothers. Gandalf could not contain a happy laughter.

* * *

It took Gandalf three hours to escape the hospitality of these former members of the company of Thorin Oakenshield, and slightly swaying, after all the ale they poured into him, and from the ringing in his ear from all the hollering and yelling the Dwarves had done, he walked halls and corridors, encountering jolly crowds, and listening to music.

He found Bilbo in the Great Hall of Erebor, sitting on a tall bench, a chicken leg in one hand, a mug in another, a plate on his lap. The Hobbit was grinning from ear to ear, swinging his fowl rhythmically from side to side, his eyes glued to the center of the hall. Gandalf looked as well.

Clad in royal Durin's blue, in a richly decorated doublet, regal, and splendid, King Thorin II moved to a slow yet joyful tune, with a confident grace, and fluidity to his step, his right hand lifted and pressed into the lifted right hand of a small red-haired woman of Men. Her eyes happy and brilliant, she was smiling to him, and they made several steps, in a perfect unison, and then switched hands, her opulent skirts brushing at his legs, and their locks swaying and mixing for an instant - the ebony and the copper gold, in luscious waves, scattered on their shoulders, with precious Dwarven beads weaved into the traditional marriage braids. And another change of figure followed, and suddenly the King stepped closer, brushing his palm to her cheek instead of meeting her hand, and she blushed, and laughed, and he joined her.

Gandalf felt his eyes prickle.

And then the music sped up, and the woman laughed louder, and while other couples picked up their step, and whirled, and their feet stomped, the young Queen of Erebor pressed her small hand - diamonds and opals sparkling on her long pale fingers - to her stomach, and while her hand moved in a tender round movement Gandalf saw the firm curve previously hidden under the layers of fabric.

And that was when Gandalf had to discreetly wipe the first tear.

The King leaned in and whispers something into the woman's ear, and she playfully swatted his shoulder. White teeth gleamed in the still black beard, and the King offered his wife a looped arm.

They walked to the doors at the back of the hall, absorbed in their conversation, and Gandalf gathered his bearings, sniffling and shaking off the mawkishness, and walked towards the Hobbit. Bilbo emitted an ecstatic cry and waved his - half eaten now - chicken leg joyfully.

* * *

"He has not noticed you." A soft female voice came, and Gandalf blinked, jerked out of his unhurried, deep thoughts.

He was sitting on one of many balconies of Erebor, hours after, smoking his pipe. He turned his head and met the slanted eyes of the Queen. She was dressed in a much simpler attire, a dress of green velvet, gems gone from her hair, no rings on her fingers.

It was late at night, but Gandalf assumed no one kept track of time in Erebor these days. People feasted, and danced, and drank, then slept - not enough, of course - and then feasted again.

The Wizard got up and bestowed the woman with a low bow. She nodded gracefully and smiled to him with cordiality.

He had expected to feel the magic. And he did, and yet he was astonished. Instead of power and force running her veins, all he could sense was a calm warmth coming off her. He looked her over, and she stood calmly, allowing him the scrutiny. Her left hand lay on top of her stomach, making the soft fabric outline the roundness.

"My son, Thror, son of Thorin," she suddenly said, and chuckled. "We talk, him and I. He demanded to be introduced officially. Same cantankerous temper as his father, you see."

Gandalf barked a low laughter.

"Wren of Enedwaith..." he slowly pronounced.

"Wren of Erebor," she corrected, and sat down on one of the benches. "As I said, the King has not noticed you in the Great Hall. He sleeps now, and I do not expect him to wake soon. He is… overtaxed." Gandalf watched blush spill on her cheeks, and the long graceful neck.

"And you, my lady? Why do you wander the halls of your Kingdom? It is past midnight," the Wizard asked softly.

"I was famished, and sneaked away to one of the kitchens. Fortunately for me, there is always food prepared in the houses of the Khazad." She laughed softly, and dangled her feet in soft leather slippers. Gandalf suddenly remembered that she had seen no more than twenty four Springs in her life.

Their eyes met, and she nodded to him. Nothing had to be said, surely. He had received her letter, decorous, and ambiguous, inviting him to the wedding celebrations. She spoke of reconciliation between the King and the Hobbit that she expected would happen as soon as they met, and Gandalf had laughed then at the antics of the scheming girl of Men. He laughed even more when slightly inebriated Bilbo sobbed into Gandlaf's shoulder, wiping happy tears, telling how Thorin and him had finally put their old grievances to rest, and how he even had received the second embrace in a course of just a few hours. Bilbo had been gushing on and on about the Lady of the Mountain as well, of her compassion, and her curiosity, and how the two of them spent many hours, through which he would speak of the Quest, and she would emit oh's and ah's listening to his account of their adventures. She suggested the Hobbit turned the story into a book, and sniffling and grinning happily Bilbo had said he had considered it and he would certainly do it.

"It is nice, is it not?" the woman suddenly asked, and Gandalf threw her a side glance. Her eyes were on the night city in front of her, her expression distant and melancholic. "The end of an adventure. It is nice to just sit and recollect it, but at the same time to know with certainty it is over..."

Gandalf saw her press the thumb of her left hand into the center of the right palm, into a wide jagged scar, and rub it in a clearly unconscious habitual gesture.

"It is, my lady. But as I said many years ago to a certain Hobbit, even when you come back, you are never the same."

She turned, and melancholy left her eyes. She smiled blissfully, and rose.

"Well, then I say it is best to see each new day as a new adventure. It will be easier to accept the changes. It is the same with children..." She rubbed the top of her stomach and tilted her head as if listening to something Gandalf could not hear. "We see them every day, and we do not notice them grow. And yet the magic is happening every minute of every day."

She walked to the entrance to the halls.

"I shall see you at breakfast, my lady," Gandalf called after her, and she lightly agreed and wished him good night, disappearing inside the halls.

Gandalf sat for many more hours on the same bench, rings of fragrant smoke floating around him. His heart was content and peaceful.

* * *

**Alright, my darlings…**

**Pressing a handkerchief to my tearing eyes, I have to announce that I have only one more chapter left. And that is it.**

**I am willing to write an epilogue, or two (or more :), and I'm open to your suggestions. Let me know what you would like to see in them, and I will oblige.**

**And...**

**I was going to talk about how important every single one of you is to me, how grateful I am for you, my readers, for reviews, and personal messages, and for every minute of this journey, but my throat is constricted, and I think I should just go make myself a cuppa and save you from my sentimentalism.**

**Truly and ardently yours,**

**Katya Kolmakov**


	109. Chapter 109

**This is the last chapter, my darlings. I was listening to Paul Mauriat's _Alouette_ when writing it, if you want to check it out.**

* * *

It was mid Summer, and the day, even in its early morning, promised to be hot. Wren slowly went up the stairs, holding on to the railing, and stepped out into the courtyard near the Front Gate. Thorin and Lady Dis were already there, and Wren saw her husband shift, almost unconsciously, to help her. Her first urge was to mumble her usual 'it is quite alright,' which she had to say almost constantly, given how everyone felt her bulbous form needed to be supported at all times. And then she hid a small loving smile, and let the King pick up her elbow and enjoy the illusion he was being helpful. In most cases, unless he was interfering with some business of hers, Wren let him fret. The only weight she gained these days was the baby, and her parturiency was hardly even noticeable from behind, but Wren understood the sentiment. The King, just as many others in Erebor, considered Wren's child a wonder, and worried immensely. Wren, who could hear Thror's heart, and occasionally as if talk to her babe, did not.

Dis stood by her pony, jerking some uncooperative clasp on her armour.

"Please, let me, sister." Wren stepped to her and pried the belt out of the Dwarf dame's fidgeting fingers.

"I am still not certain I should go…" Dis muttered, and her lips twisted in unease. "Perhaps I should wait for your babe to come…"

"We do not know when it is to happen. And you are expected in Ered Mithrin for a while, sister. How many ravens from Svanna have you received in the last moon?" Wren asked cheekily, and Dis sighed.

"I know… And yet I worry…"

"Of course you do. We are kin. It is a half Dwarven child, unheard of and unpredictable. And yet I am healthy, in the best of moods, and you want to go see the twin children." Wren leaned in and kissed Dis' cheek. "So go, and worry not. I will send a raven to you if I feel it is time."

Lady Dis sighed again.

"She is right," the King confirmed softly, and picked up the reins from the hand of a courtier. "You have stayed for our wedding, and we are grateful. It is time you go where you want to be."

Dis smiled widely to her brother, and then wrapped her arm around his neck and pulled him into tight embrace.

"May Durin watch over you, nadad. And care for your wife. There is no treasure greater in Erebor."

Wren felt pleased blush spill onto her cheek from the hardly undeserved praise.

"Indeed there is none," the King rumbled, and returned the embrace. "Take care, namad." He affectionately patted his sister's back.

Dis exhaled sharply and decisively mounted her pony. Wren looked her over with cordiality and pride. The posture of the Dwarven princess was regal and confident, armour shining on her robust body, royal Durin helmet on her white locks. The blue eyes, so alike her brother's, shone joyfully. She looked down at them, and Wren saw mischief - that was more and more common in Lady Dis' disposition these last few moons - crawl into the Princess' expression.

"If this babe comes before I can return, I expect the two of you to start on the second one right away," she announced, and Wren giggled into her fist. The King tried to feign a frown, but failed.

"The sun will soon rise... And you are still here..." the King announced, seemingly not addressing anyone. Wren bit into her bottom lip to hide the next giggle that was threatening to escape her.

The Princess muttered a word in Khuzdul Wren was not familiar with. After all, her lessons in Khuzdul only involved learning proper language. And then, after giving Wren a wink and a gleeful smirk, the Princess emitted a throaty short cry and spurred her pony. The guards followed her, and soon Wren was left alone with her husband in the courtyard.

Wren looked at the King and saw a small crinkle between his brows. She wondered whether she was to leave him to his thoughts but then she found his hand and squeezed his fingers.

"I think we are hungry..." she drew out in a nonchalant manner, and the King immediately shook off his broodiness and started marching into the Inner Halls, tugging at her hand. Wren followed as if obediently.

* * *

The night before Lady Dis came to Wren's chambers. The young Queen, of course, resided in the King's former bedchambers, having added some pieces of furniture, such as a vanity and another wardrobe, but she also had her own rooms, including a study, her personal library, and a small indoor garden, which was still under construction during the Summer.

The Princess found Wren in the small room adjoin to the nursery. Wren was sitting in a rocking chair, slightly pushing off the floor with her foot, her eyes fixed on the window. Just in a few moons she would be sitting here in the early hours of morning, nursing her son.

"Sister?" Lady Dis' soft voice came, and Wren turned and smiled to her.

"Evening. Do come in!" She waved invitingly, and the Princess took a spot nearby on a settee. Wren had long given up on the habit of getting up when her kin was coming into the room. She had been strictly berated for it, and no amount of explaining that physical exercise was good for her and the child helped.

Lady Dis looked around the room, and Wren wondered if she was stalling, considering she had helped to decorate the chamber, and certainly knew everything in it.

"I came to thank you, Wren," the Princess finally spoke, and Wren's eyebrows jumped up in surprise.

"Thank me?"

"Aye..." The Princess sighed, but there was no sadness in her expression. "I just think that my brother, being a thick skulled, inconsiderate… well, male..." The Princess made her usual slightly irritated, haughty 'pff' sound, and Wren snorted. "Well, being a man, he would never be able to express how grateful he is. That if if he can even understand it with all his self-centered, dogmatic, narrow-minded perception."

"Sister, not that I am not secretly receiving pleasure from you berating your brother..." Wren giggled. "But what are you all about?"

"Bear with me, namad matazniniya, I am no Elf, eloquence is not among my talents. Insults come easier." The Princess puffed air couple times, and then she shifted closer and picked up Wren's hand from the armrest.

"When you came to me for the first time, then… Long time ago… After your conversation with the Elders, you came to my study, and you sat in front of me, just a skinny girl in a poor dress… Do you know what I saw in you?"

Wren felt her throat constrict, from the memories, and she feebly shook her head. The echo of the despair she felt there clenched around her heart. She pressed her free hand over her stomach, the velvet of her opulent dress under her palm, her son's heart beating evenly, bringing relief. She was not that skinny girl in a poor dress, she reminded herself hastily. She was a loving wife and Mother. She was the wife of Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain, and bore his heir under her heart.

"I saw hope then," the Princess pronounced slowly, and the word hung in the silence of the small room, in the crystal fresh Summer air, aroma of herbs blooming on the sill carrying across it. "Aye, hope… For me, for the line of Durin, for all Erebor… It was hope against all odds, without any reason..."

"My sons are dead, sister," the Princess continued gravely, after a pause, and Wren gasped from the simplicity and the sobriety of the Princess' heartbreaking words. "And yet you brought even them back..."

"I did not," Wren breathed out.

"You gave them back to _me,_" Lady Dis interrupted impatiently. "Durin's blood helped them return, and they would have been cherished and brought up as they deserve without you. But it is you who gave me a chance to see their souls in the eyes of another's children. And it was you who made sure I did not forget they were not my sons. Do you think I do not understand that all the wise talks my brother had with me came from you?" The Princess chuckled and shook her head. "I was mad at him first, when he refused to bring the children here. He had to withstand hours of my rage, and yet he was calm and patient and just kept on repeating they were not them. I hated him then, but with time I saw how right he was - and I do know the wisdom came from you."

Wren remained silent, her heart fluttering, her eye glued to the calm face of the Princess.

"As it was agreed I will go to Ered Mithrin, and I will live in the village, and Svanna and I will bring up the children. And it will bring peace and happiness to all." The Princess nodded to her own thoughts and a small, warm smile touched her lips. "And you will have sons and daughters, and I will come and visit, and spoil them shamelessly." Wren smiled to Dis through tears that had rolled over her eyes.

"So, I gather, I did not feel hope for nothing then… You brought the line of Durin back to Erebor, Wren of Enedwaith, a simple healer of the city of Dale." The Princess lips twisted, and she moved into embrace, as Wren rushed to her, and the two women held each other, crying their happy tears.

After quite a while, they straightened up, wiped their tears, and cleared their throats, and Wren squirmed in her chair, in emotional discomfort from undeserved praise.

"I still think, sister mine, you give me too much credit..." Wren had to cough couple more times, as her voice was scratchy and nasal. "I have not committed any heroic acts. I just took a step after a step, did my best… I was scared and confused most of the time… And any other would have done the same..."

The Princess tilted her head mockingly, looking every bit like her brother at that moment.

"Well, no other did. So just take the praise and say, akhminruki astû." _Thank you wholeheartedly, _Wren translated in her mind.

"Akhminruki astû, sister." Wren smiled, and patted the Princess' hand. After a moment of consideration Wren added, "And you are not quite right. Your brother is grateful, and he expresses it. Just not in words, I would say..." Wren cleared her throat, this time in slight embarrassment.

"Well, at least something he does right," the Princess grumbled, and both women laughed.

* * *

Wren sat in the small kitchen, attached to the nursery, watching the King slicing cheese for her. She was not fond of the food generally, but recently she found herself craving it. Perhaps, the King's passionate love for it transferred to Wren through her son's blood.

Wren watched the knife move in the strong hands of her husband - the hand that she knew could bring death, but also so much pleasure. She once again asked herself how was it that she was given so much happiness in her life.

"Are you planning to feed all Erebor with this cheese, my King?" she asked, and he looked up at her. Wren ogled the blue eyes and the sardonically cocked up thick black eyebrow. "I could not eat even the fifth of what you cut." The King chuckled and put the knife aside.

Wren hastily grabbed a piece of cheese and a slice of freshly baked bread. She was indeed famished. Only after she stuffed both her cheeks with food, chewing enthusiastically, she realised the King was watching her with some soft, slightly amused expression.

Wren hummed questioningly, not able to ask, since her mouth was full. The King chuckled a low chuckle in his chest, got up, and walked to the stove to start the kettle. The kitchen was prepared for the nights when Wren would need midnight snacks while nursing her son, but more and more often the royal couple would find themselves here, in a small cozy world of the even warmth of their marriage and their love.

On the way to the stove the King leaned in, and his hand shortly cupped his wife's jaw, and his lips pressed to the top of her head.

"Thank you for everything, Wren," he said quietly, and his thumb brushed at her cheek, and then he stepped away, clanking with the kettle.

Wren froze with food behind her cheeks, and her nose twitched. She pondered between bursting into happy tears at the realisation of how fortunate she was in her life, and continuing her meal, waiting for her tea, and perhaps later dragging her husband to their bedchambers and not letting him out for several hours. The second option appeared more favourable and surely more reasonable, and Wren of Erebor went back to her chewing.

**THE END**

* * *

**And that is it, my darlings! There will be epilogues, and perhaps even more one-shots added, but this is the end.**

**If you enjoyed this story, I will be happy to see you in **_**Letter to Your heart, Axes to Your Scabbards, **_**my ongoing film based Hobbit AU.**

* * *

**Please, give a chance to my new website ****rodhina dot kolmakov dot ca****. It is a fantasy world, built around my webseries **_**Ani**_**. The site will have chapters of the story, updated frequently, and my art. You can sign up for a newsletter on the main page to be notified of news and updates.**

**The synopsys of **_**Ani**_** might seem familiar, and I hope if you join the party, we all can enjoy the play on the plot and the characters I'm creating :)**

**Synopsys:**

The war has been raging through the lands to the South of the Great Sea for the last ten years; but it is over, and the ships of the Westerners return to their islands, carrying with them the dead body of their warlord, King Einar. He had fallen in the last battle, protecting Lindrand, the port lying in the heart of the trade of the Known Lands.

Ani, a young healer, has only seen him once, at the beginning of her service in the infirmary where he found his end. Once he starts visiting her dreams, she is placed before a choice. She can venture in a long and perilous journey through the Great Islands and the Known Lands to find a way to help him to pass into the Mists of the Forefathers, the mythical haven where, according to the Westerners, only the warriors fallen in battle are given passage to. Or, Ani can stay in Lindrand and build a peaceful and uneventful life that she has always dreamt about.

_Ani_ is the first book in the King Einar Series, and it is the story of a young woman who has no choice but to find strength and courage to face the world ruled by men and magic.

* * *

**Thank you for being with me on this journey!**

**Love you all with my willing heart!**

**Katya Kolmakov**


	110. Epilogue 1 Thorin's Shoulder

**EPILOGUE 1. ****THORIN'S SHOULDER**

1.

"Thorin..." Wren shook her husband's shoulder.

"Hm… Aye… I am awake..." the King mumbled, and snuggled deeper under the covers and furs. If not for the dire circumstances, Wren, just as usual, would have felt enamoured and spent the next few instants enjoying the view of the thick black eyebrow, the only part of the royal face visible from under the silken sheets.

"Thorin, you are not! But you will be… Once the moisture reaches you..." Wren drew out, and shook his shoulder again, wondering if indeed she should just let the events follow on their own.

"It is quite alright..." The King's long arm habitually snaked in the warmth, and he tried to pull his wife closer.

"Thorin, I am going into labour, but haste not, it is indeed quite alright..." Wren settled more comfortably in her pillows and waited.

And just as she knew it would, the King's ability to still perceive what was transpiring around him even in the deepest slumber, after many years of life on the road in the dangers of Arda, awoke, and suddenly the heavy body jolted, the King's thrashed - Wren had wisely moved away - and he sat up, like one of those toys with a spring inside that generously decorating the nursery room adjoin to the royal bedroom.

"Id-nadan!" the King roared, and started looking around, his eyes boggled and hair sticking out in all possible directions. _Babe, _Wren translated in her mind.

"Indeed," she agreed sardonically, and Thorin whipped his head and stared at her.

"Why are you just sitting here? You should be running after the midwife! I should be left in comfort and peace!" the King yelled again, and Wren gave him a surprised look from under raised eyebrows. "By Mahal's name, I am to run after the midwife, you are to sit here in comfort and peace!"

The long arms flailed, Wren winced away not to have her nose broken by the panicking Lord of the Carven Stone, and he rolled out of the bed and disappeared in the passage, the door having been jerked ajar and smacked into the wall with a loud bang. Wren slowly slid off the bed, and went into the wardrobe to change. Small chuckles were escaping her, as she was wondering when exactly the King would realise that the only garment he was wearing was a lilac silk ribbon she playfully weaved into his mane last night in the midst of their lovemaking. They were rather restrained these days, as she was clearly approaching her term, and most of the time was spent in tender caresses and flirting games.

* * *

Wren's delivery went in the healthiest and most predictable manner, despite the half Dwarven blood running in the child's veins. Thror, son of Thorin, was a large, robust infant, with a thick lock of black hair, stubbornly sticking up on top of his head like a crown of a woodpecker. The eyes were dark, just as all newly born Dwarven babes had, but somehow Wren knew they were to change their colour to the glacial blue of his father.

In the evening of the next day, Wren was lying on the royal bed, the babe sleeping near her, the King half sitting behind her, his eyes attentively studying the face of his firstborn.

Wren's fingertips tenderly brushed at the small hand. Thror was one of the many newborns she had seen, but of course he seemed to her the most beautiful and the most miraculous. Her body ached, and felt foreign and empty, and she still could not believe that the event they had been anticipating for so long had finally taken place. And yet, here lay the proof, sniffling in his sleep, face still wrinkly but already cantankerous and indubitably so alike his father's.

The little fingers twitched, and the King behind Wren inhaled sharply.

"He is so beautiful..." Wren whispered, and her lips trembled. She felt her husband shift and press his face to the crown of her head.

"Aye, he is..." the King answered in a whisper no less awed, and his hand gently lay on Wren's upper arm. "Thank you, Wren…"

Wren chuckled, although shakily, the feeling of piercing happiness - so large that she felt almost terrified - overwhelming her.

"We have made him together..." She looked at her husband over her shoulder, and saw tears glisten in his eyes. She wondered if he felt better if she turned away, allowing him the moment of weakness, but he leaned in and pressed his forehead to her temple. Wren felt wetness brush her cheek.

"Thorin..."

She knew more of his tears ran, as she felt a drop fall on her arm. She carefully shifted, and wrapped her arms around him, allowing him to hide his face into her neck.

Wren thought she understood, and after all she felt the same perfect bliss, and relief, and something akin to astonishment that here they were, all three of them, alive, and well, after everything that had transpired.

The King sniffled, and the surprisingly loud noise made Wren shake off her sentimentality.

"Thorin… If you feel the need to take your emotions under rule, I can remind you that you ran out of our bedchambers screaming and calling the midwife while wearing nothing but your beads and rings. That memory should certainly aid you to chase away your mawkishness."

The King chuckled into Wren's skin, and then again, and then peeked at her, one blue eye shiny and mischievous.

"Being in danger to give you more verbal weapons against me for later, my impudent Queen, I will also tell you that I ran in this manner all the way to the infirmary and the midwife was tending to an expectant mother when I barged into her study."

Wren giggled quietly, and then moved and tenderly kissed the King's lips.

"So, now all Erebor knows that I am a very lucky wife," she whispered, and they laughed quietly.

* * *

2.

"Thorin..." Wren rasped out, cringing from the next wave of pain, and shook her husband's shoulder.

The King sat upright in a sharp movement and immediately awake, like a war ram at the sound of the Erebor horn.

"Is it time?" he asked, already jumping off the bed, and pulling up his trousers he picked up from the floor.

"Aye..." Wren groaned, and wrapped her arms around her stomach. "I think… I do not know..."

"It is alright, it is alright," the King muttered, pushing pillows under her lower back, while pulling on a tunic. "I will get the midwife, the water for you to drink is right there. Have your waters broke, ushaktul?" The King's tone was calm and collected. Wren shook her head.

"It is alright," the King repeated. "As you told me, that is natural."

He then headed to the door and left hastily. Wren gritted her teeth and breathed in and out.

* * *

"She looks just like her brother when he was born." The King lovingly looked his daughter over, cradling the infant in his arms. Wren opened her eyes and threw a tired yet adoring glance at her husband.

"She is smaller."

"Is she?" The King peeked at a small foot, stubbornly escaping the swaddling blanket.

"Believe me, my King, she is." Wren sighed and shifted her aching body on the bed. "I feel much less as if I had been in a tavern brawl and lost the fight."

The King smiled, his eyes still on the face of Unna, daughter of Thorin.

"She is so beautiful..." he whispered, and brushed the tips of his fingers to the tender cheek. "Just like her mother…" Wren snorted.

"She has nothing from me. Not a single feature… Which is a blessing, in my mind." Wren closed her eyes again.

"I was hoping for copper locks." She heard the King whisper, and then, when she was already slipping into the blissful sleep, "Perhaps the next time..."

* * *

3.

"Thorin..." Wren shook her husband's shoulder, and he sat upright as if pushed up by a catapult.

"Is it time for the babe already?"

Wren laughed loudly.

"Oh my poor King! No, it is not the time for running for a midwife. Dain was born six weeks ago." The King stared at her in astonishment, and Wren rolled on the bed in a bout of gleeful giggles. "Oh Mahal help me, you should see your face..."

"Why did you wake me up then, impossible woman?" he grumbled, which only caused Wren to laugh louder.

"I was..." she attempted to speak, but the view of his dark waves in disarray, and still widened eyes made her almost weak from frolics. "I was intending to offer… to renew our marital duties… Oh Mahal help me, your face..." Wren was growing out of breath.

He was staring at her, and she pressed a pillow over her face, muffling her merriment.

"Marital duties?" he asked slowly, and Wren snorted into the pillow from his confused tone.

And then a pair of warm hands found her, and slid up her hips, and she gasped and threw the pillow aside.

"Shall we attend to our duties then?" he purred, and Wren rushed into a fervent kiss. Gone was a flabbergasted father of three, and Wren was quickly divested of her garments and ravished. Just as she hoped.

* * *

4.

"Thorin..." Wren shook her husband's shoulder, and he jerked and lifted his head from the desk he was sleeping on. "You fell asleep in your study again..."

The King yawned widely and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"Mahal help me, I must be growing old..."

Wren snorted and came up to him. He shifted and turned to her in his tall armchair, and she climbed on his lap.

"I do not think the age is to blame, my lord. I would rather suspect it is your youngest son, and his habit of never sleeping. At all." Wren smiled to her husband, and he groaned.

"Would you like to spend a night in some other chamber, husband of mine?" Wren asked tenderly and kissed his cheek. There was an imprint of a quill he was sleeping on on the skin. "He will continue his frolics this night, just as any other night before it, so perhaps you should have rest in my former bedchamber."

The King shook his head stubbornly.

"If you have to endure it, I will too, my heart."

"We can always try yet another nursery maid," Wren suggested, hearing herself how doubtful her tone was.

"No, none of that anymore." The King shook his head, and rubbed his eyes again. "His screams were intolerable. If he needs one of us, we will sit with him."

Wren gave her husband a pitiful look, and sighed. Another sleepless night was upon them.

* * *

"Thorin," Wren hissed and shook her husband's shoulder. "Thorin, we have fallen asleep! And it is already dawn!"

The King lifted his head heavily from his bent elbow and stared at Wren.

"What?.."

"We were sleeping! All of us! All night!" Wren could not believe it herself, and then she looked down. Between them, on their oaken bed, Othin, the youngest son of Thorin Oakenshield slept soundly, dark curls scattered around his head, his brother Dain's even breath heard near him. Separated only by two years in age, the boys were as different as they could be. Dain, lithe and red haired, so alike his mother, and Othin, a precise replica of his oldest brother Thror and his father, slept tightly, soft smiles on both pairs of lips.

Wren looked at her husband and met his astonished eyes.

"Mahal help me, I cannot believe it..." the King breathed out and dropped his head back. "The first night in a year..."

"We just need to put their cribs near each other..." Wren muttered in disbelief.

Bu the King could not hear her voicing this remarkable discovery as he was already in the deepest of slumbers.

* * *

5.

"Thorin," Wren breathed out and pushed her husband's shoulder. "Thorin, we will be caught..."

The King's hot lips slid on her throat, and she felt teeth graze the sensitive skin. Wren bit into her bottom lip to hide a moan.

"Mahal help me, what are you doing, impossible Dwarf?" Wren squirmed, feeling the King's fingers deftly bunching up her skirts. "Oh... The emissaries have arrived... Oh Mahal…"

The King rumbled in his chest, and Wren felt him jerk her bodice down. She arched into him, feeling his lips caress her skin above the lace collar of her undertunic. But then she tried to wince away, remembering where they were.

"Mahal… Look at yourself..." She tried to reason with the man who was now stroking her legs through the silk stockings. "You have more silver in your hair than ebony… Oh… Oh…"

His fingers found one of the many secret sensitive spots on her body that he had mapped through years of their marriage, this time one on the inside of her knee, and Wren shook and started sliding down the wall.

The King picked her up and deposited her on the nearest bench.

"Thorin..." Instead of a reproachful remark, it sounded like a lustful whisper. "We will be caught… We are in a pantry… The emissaries..."

The King caught her mouth, and Wren threw all caution aside, picked up his crown and blindly pushed it on the nearest shelf. Her fingers full of silver locks, with dark silk still weaved into them, and her legs wrapped around the familiar wide body, she suddenly tore her mouth off his and snarled, "We will need to gag me, I am always so loud..."

"That sounds familiar..." The King gave her a lopsided smirk, and Wren decided that there was only one way to silence her and to wipe this self-assured expression from his face. The kiss was fervent and fierce, and so not fitting for a married couple of so many years!

"Oh Thorin..."

* * *

**LAST CHANCE!**

**As a belated birthday present from me to you, I've set up a *****GIVEAWAY of two hard copies of my novel _Convince Me the Winter Is Over_!***

**Before May 1st, follow my writer's Facebook page (facebook dot com slash katyakolmakov) and/or Instagram (instagram dot com slash kkolmakov), and send me a personal message or leave a comment in one or both of these platforms, for a chance to win my book. Messages in both double your chances.**

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**Cheers!**

**Yours truly,**  
**Katya Kolmakov**

* * *

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Also available on the blog:

romance webserial: _Dr. T Series_

_Summary:_ Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle.

_Updated__ every Saturday!_

**JukePop: Katya Kolmakov**

_Blind Carnival_, a parody on romance/erotic novels

_Summary: _Olivia Dane is an author of trashy romance novels. She lost her husband seven years ago and seeks no relationship, preferring the company of her imaginary yet dashing protagonists. When forced to go on a blind date, the last thing Olivia expects is to meet John Dowling, an architect, and a willing guinea pig for her writing research. Armed with openness and eager curiosity, Olivia and John endeavour to find out if erotic clichés even work, whether relationships tie one down, and who wears the trousers in this couple.

_Updated every Thursday!_

**Twitter: katyakolmakov**

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**Tumblr: kkolmakov-thorin-ff**

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**DevianArt: kkolmakov**

* * *

**My book on Amazon!**

**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

**{my first novel**

**inspired by the story initially written here}**

**Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

**_Summary:_**

_Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

_John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

_Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

_Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	111. Teaser for a Possible Sequel

**Teaser for _The Four Corners Of Middle Earth. _**

* * *

Lothiriel stepped on the deck of the light schooner that had been her temporary shelter for the last two moons. She loved the fresh and salty air of the sea, and she gathered lungfuls.

"My lady, another half a day, and we are back home," the ship captain announced gleefully, and she gave the man a warm smile.

Lothiriel's visit to the islands West of Dol Amroth had been a success, and she was returning home full of pride and expectations of praise from her father. She could not wait to see her kin, especially her brothers. And with all honesty, she could not wait to sleep out of her chainmail and with unwavering ground underneath her. As much as she enjoyed sea travels, nothing brought her more joy that being surrounded by the loyal walls of her home. Worry, as well, was gnawing at her heart. The world was growing perilous; unrest grew in all parts of Arda.

"A ship!" a sailor in the crow's nest suddenly screamed. "I see black sails!"

Lothiriel's hand lay on the hilt of her sword unconsciously.

"Corsairs?" she asked the captain in a hushed voice, and saw alarm colour his features.

"All hands on deck!" the captain ordered, and sailors rushed around Lothiriel. She stepped out of the way, worrying her lip.

Soon, she could see the ship on the horizon, as it was approaching fast. The triangle of the sail was indeed of a darker tone, and she could see a banner thrash on the mast. She thought she recognised the crest of one the Umbar Warlords.

"At least they are alone, no Haradrim filth," the captain muttered under his breath. "But what are they doing so close to the shore?"

"Their ship is fast," the first mate stepped closer to the captain and Lothiriel, and they formed a tight circle speaking in hushed voices. "I would say it is a scouting mission."

"Or a waylaying one," the captain answered, and threw Lothiriel a meaningful look. "If the islanders betrayed us and sent them a note, they know you are on this ship, my lady." Lothiriel exhaled sharply in anguish.

"It would make sense," the first mate spoke gravely. "One fast ship, a swift attack, and they have the Princess of Dol Amroth for ransom."

"Can we outrun them?" Lothiriel asked, and the dark expressions on the men's faces gave her the answer.

"There are a few more hours travel to the port." The captain shook his head. "Unless..."

"Aye?" the Princess asked, and the men exchanged looks. "Well, what is it?"

"There is a bay nearby. We can try reaching it. It is tricky, the arms are narrow, and full of steep cliffs, but we could manage."

"Then do it." Lothiriel commanded firmly, and the captain nodded. "They might withdraw if they see us go for the bay. They hardly will be willing to fight on land."

* * *

Lothiriel had been wrong. The Umbar ship had pursued them relentlessly, and even when they entered the narrow mouth of the bay, it followed. The corsairs had an additional advantage in the circumstances - their ship was narrower and lighter, and as they chased the schooner, they did not need to maneuver between the underwater cliffs and ridges.

Lothiriel could already see the sandy shore of the bay, when a deafening crack and a jerk of the ship's hull let the failure of their captain be known. A long wide shoal lay underneath them, and the sailors saw small light boats separate from the Umbar ship and rush towards them.

A fight started on the decks, and blood spilled. The assailants were numerous, blood thirsty, and the sailors were suffering defeat.

When almost none were left standing, the corsair captain placed the final blow across the first mate's chest, and the man fell, heaving, blood colouring his lips.

"Where is she? Where is the Princess?" the corsair asked, but the sailor only spat in response.

* * *

Lothiriel crawled out of the water, coughing, her limbs aching, and lungs painful in her chest. She was an exceptional swimmer, but even for her the distance was trialing. She had left her armour on the schooner, but her sword was clasped to her back, and now weighed on her like a rock.

She could hear screams from the schooner, and quickly looked back. Judging by the corsair boat now rowing towards the shore, her escape had been discovered. She pushed herself to get up and rushed towards the pines on the far end of the beach. She knew this part of the shore was uninhibited. She had only herself to rely on.

She ran, weaving between the pines, her wet boots slipping on the needles and the grass, but she knew she had little chance to escape. Whatever advantage she had gained was now quickly dissipating. The men behind her had their strength, she had just swam the distance that made every muscle in her body burn in agony.

She could already hear noise behind her - boots stomping, and harsh voices barking - when she suddenly dug her heels into the ground. She stood on the edge of a steep sandy gully, the slope going sharply down. Lothiriel looked back, and saw the first corsair appear from between pines. She squeezed her eyes and lunged ahead.

She rolled down, protecting her sides, and minding the blade on her back, and landed at the bottom relatively unscathed. The men hesitated on the top, and she jumped on her feet and rushed along the tiny trickle of stream at the bottom. She knew it would only be moments before they followed. The walls on her two sides were growing taller, and soon she realised she was running through a narrow cleft in the rocks.

Air was entering her lungs, seemingly cutting them with myriads of blades, and her legs gave in twice already. She would fall, and rise, and run again, her knees now bleeding, cut by the sharp rocks under her feet. The voices behind her grew louder, and fear grasped at her heart.

The cleft made a sharp turn, and Lothiriel pushed with the last effort of her body and spirit. She dashed along its curve, around a large granite boulder, and came to a sudden stop, frozen from the view that entered to her eyes.

* * *

Two people stood in the narrow passage in front of her. Both were short, hardly reaching Lothiriel's chest. The woman was slender and of Men, clad in some heavy opulent garments, unfamiliar to Lothiriel. The Man was probably a Dwarf - although Lothiriel had encountered too few of them to be certain. Long dark locks lay on his shoulders and back, almost covering a long wide scabbard on his back.

"And I am telling you, I am not leaving my crown in some forsaken sandy ditch!" the woman said and pushed a large golden crown under his nose.

"It is your coronation one! You never fancied it anyway!" the Dwarf answered in a grumpy tone, and then both of them turned and looked at Lothiriel. She noted the freckles on the woman's angular face, and the Dwarf's prominent nose, and the black beard, braided at the end, and decorated with splendid beads.

And at that moment the corsairs appeared around the curve of the crevice.

Lothiriel jerked her sword out of the scabbard, wondering whether she had just gained the second group of enemies, when the Dwarf shifted, shielding the red haired woman. His wide Dwarven sword was already firmly clasped in his right hand.

"Umbar corsairs," he snarled through gritted teeth, and the woman peeked from around his wide frame.

"Aye," she agreed. "The question is why you are pushing me aside. I can fight, you know."

"I have not touched you," the man grumbled, and Lothiriel wondered whether the two of them were mad. The corsairs were slowly approaching, and the Dwarf and the woman were bickering like an old married couple! Their behaviour was apparently puzzling even to the attackers, since they were exchanging confused looks.

"We also do not know if your magic had returned with us, ushaktul," the Dwarf said, and the woman huffed the air out in irritation.

"There is only one way to find out," she announced haughtily, and stepped ahead.

The woman lifted her hands, in a strange gesture, splaying her fingers and palms, as if planning to push the corsairs back, and then Lothiriel could not hold back a cry of astonishment. Some sort of golden glow grew in the centers of the woman's palms, and then tongues, sharp and slithering, grew out of them, and rushed towards the corsairs.

The first wave of the golden glow hit the nearest attacker into his chest, and the others thrashed, screams of panic escaping some of them. Two of them nonetheless rushed ahead, only to meet a quick and bloody demise at the feet of the Dwarf. The double loop of his blade cut them down like a woodcutter's axe chopped down young trees.

The man hit by the woman's bewildering golden flames flew about twenty steps backwards, and his body slammed into a rocky side of the cleft. The woman jerked her hands back.

"Mahal help me, that was mighty!" She shook her hands, as if trying to dry them of water. "I have not been able to wield that much in years."

"You have been dead in years," the Dwarf grumbled, wiping his blade, and looked at the quickly disappearing corsairs. And then his bright blue eyes shifted onto Lothiriel, who still stood frozen, her sword limply hanging in her hand. "Good day, fair maiden. And who would you be?"

"I am… Gilraen." Lothiriel quickly conjured a lie. "Gilraen, daughter of Hallas."

"And a liar," the woman chimed in, in a teasing tone, and Lothiriel shifted her eyes at her.

The redhead was an oddity: the features were sharp, her eyes slanted and of strange greenish hazel colour, her mouth wide and red lipped. Her face was kind though, and presently glowing with a mischievous smile.

"You do not have to give us your name, child," the woman spoke warmly. "But the royal crest of Dol Amroth on your hilt is a wee bit telling." Lothiriel took a small step back. "Worry not, we are no danger for you. We are… lost, and hardly know ourselves who and where we are."

"Or when," the Dwarf added, and Lothiriel frowned not understanding. "What year is it, my lady?" He had a low melodic voice, and there was noble kindness glimmering in his eyes as well.

"It is Year 3018," Lothiriel drew out, shifting her eyes between the two in front of her.

"And who rules the Kingdom Under the Mountain?" asked the Dwarf, and Lothiriel gave him a confused look.

"Do you mean the Dwarven Kingdom far North?"

"How far North? Where are we?" he asked and looked around unnecessarily. They were after all locked between two steep sides of rocky crevice.

"You are on the shores of the Thunder Bay, a day travel from Dol Amroth."

"And probably we should be moving, do we not?" the woman suddenly spoke up, and started pulling off her fur collared cloak. Underneath, she wore a heavy dress, of fern green velvet. In a strange gesture she looked herself over, as if she had not known what garment she had on. She then made a small frustrated noise. "Could we not have returned in more travel appropriate garments? You at least are wearing your brigandine." She pointed at the Dwarf. He looked down at himself in the same inexplicable inquisitive interest.

"We will talk dresses later, my heart." His harmless sardonic tone made the woman emit a strangely careless giggle. "Let us start walking. The corsairs might be back, and we still have to decide what we are doing here."

Lothiriel could not hold her bewilderment back any more.

"Do you not know why you are here? Have you been brought here in a box?!" she exclaimed, and the Dwarf suddenly boomed a low, earnest guffaw.

"You are not wrong, my lady. And as for your question, nay, we know not anything regarding our presence here."

"Last time at least there were instructions in the dream," the woman spoke mysteriously, widening her eye in exaggeration, and the Dwarf sighed out a long tragic sigh. Somehow Lothiriel felt the two of them were being dramatic to entertain each other.

"Would you mind joining us?" the woman offered to Lothiriel lightly. "We could use some explanation, and you look like you need companions. As well as perhaps a healer," she said softly and pointed at Lothiriel's knees. "I could help with that. I used to serve in an infirmary."

"Thank you, but we should haste." Lothiriel gave it a thought and pushed her sword back into her scabbard. "The city is that way." She pointed North West, and the Dwarf and the woman nodded. "And what are you names, kind sir and lady?" Lothriel was grasping for some sort of clarity in the situation, but the silent looks that the two people in front of her exchanged told her she would not receive any.

"We do not wish to lie to you, child," the woman spoke in a cordial tone. "But until we know what is happening, we would like to retain our privacy."

"Fair enough," Lothiriel agreed.

* * *

They started walking. At some point the woman grumbled something under her breath and shook off the outer layer of her dress, left only in a thin undertunic and the inner skirts. The day indeed was hot. The Dwarf soon left his coat behind as well, and Lothiriel skewed her eyes and watched the sun rays play on the plates of his brigandine. Something in the pattern of the mail and the crest on the buckle of his richly adorned belt seemed familiar.

Lothiriel then shifted her eyes and caught the laughing gaze of the redhead. Embarrassment flushed Lothiriel cheeks. It indeed could have seemed that she was ogling the Dwarf.

"Your crest..." Lothiriel hastily explained, and pointed on the same pattern that decorated the scabbard of the woman's much shorter sword. "I have seen it before. And your faces… The colouring of your hair..." She trailed away in bashfulness. She was, after all, hiding her identity as well. And now she was as much as prying.

"Aye, we are an unusual pair, are we not?" the woman snickered, and the man echoed with a low rumble of a chuckle.

"We are on a lot of tapestries after all, my heart. No wonder the maiden finds us familiar." Lothiriel noted that the two of them seemed to converse more between themselves than with her. She was suddenly reminded of the same manner in her parents' behaviour.

"Perhaps we are all but forgotten by now. It has been twenty years since..." the woman stopped herself, and made a vague gesture in the air with her hand. Gem adorned rings on her fingers sent flashes of light dance. "Mahal help me..." the woman continued pensively. "Twenty years… I wonder what they are like now..." Emotions splashed in her eyes, but then she shook the sudden agitation off. "But at the moment we have a more pressuring matter to attend. I am wearing feast shoes." She pulled the hem of her skirt up, and Lothiriel saw a delicate shoe, decorated with an elegant buckle with pearls and onyxes. The woman had exceptionally small feet.

"I can carry you," the Dwarf offered, and Lothiriel watched in shock one of his black eyebrows crawl up in a flirtatious gesture. The redhead giggled.

"Hm, look at you! All alive and kicking." The woman's voice dropped into a soft purr, and the eyebrow jerked higher.

Lothiriel felt her jaw slack ungracefully. By now, it was abundantly clear the Dwarf and the woman were lovers, and Lothiriel was still struggling with the notion.

"I will walk for now, but soon you might have to," the redhead said, resuming her fast pace, and patted the man's shoulder. "And so you know..." she added, lowering her voice, and then leaned close to his face. "Judging by the silver above your brow, I would say..." She made quite a spectacle out of studying his mane. Lothiriel looked as well, though not understanding what the woman was doing. "I would say couple years after the Battle of the Five Armies."

"Wonderful age," he rumbled in response, and the woman bit into her bottom lip flirtatiously. "Is it not the age when one usually meets a certain healer from Dale?" The woman snorted and bumped her shoulder to his. They were walking so quickly that Lothiriel - tired and perturbed - had difficulty keeping up. It was clear they had plenty of experience of travelling on foot together.

"And how do I look?" the redhead asked, and the Dwarf gave her a rather indecent look over, making sure it was noticed when his gaze slid below her waist, on the hips and the bottom.

"I would say you look the right age, twenty Springs or so." She smiled to him, and he quickly whispered into her ear, and although Lothiriel did not want to eavesdrop, she heard his low whisper, "The same firecracker."

The woman laughed, the Dwarf grinned lopsidedly, Lothiriel felt flustered, and they continued their journey in the same manner.

* * *

**Dedicated to coecoe11. Thank you for planting this idea in my head. This will now turn into my new multi-chapter, LotR FF: _The Four Corners Of Middle Earth. _**


End file.
